The Big Top and the Belle Epoque

Walking around Pigalle in the Parisian twilight I'm reminded of a quotation from Walt Whitman; "The past - the dark unfathomed retrospect! The past! the infinite greatness of the past!". The present here is a neon seediness, but the past, oh how glamourous we imagine it to have been! The image we retain, the colour, the sounds, the laughter is pure belle époque, but even this was a term created in retrospect. It was only the horrors of the First World War that could make consumption and syphilis seem beautiful.

I am curious therefore when I see an advert for 'Diana Moreno, le cirque de la belle époque'. What exactly is a belle époque circus? We know that the circus was an extremely popular diversion in Paris in the 19th century, with traces remaining notably in the paintings of Degas, Toulouse-Lautrec and Seurat. It was a form of entertainment that had grown out of equestrian events, with different acts added only when it became clear that new audiences did not appreciate how difficult it was to dress horses. The equestrian element had though made the circus an event that was popular with the nobility, and the belle époque circus was still a show that attracted spectators from a wide range of backgrounds.

Perhaps the most famous of all the circuses of this era was the Fernando (later named Médrano). This permenant structure was situated on the corner of the Boulevard de Rochechouart and the Rue des Martyrs, and it was here that many of the painters sketched and found their inspiration. It was also a place that Picasso liked to frequent, with one contemporary saying "je n'ai jamais vu Picasso rire d'aussi bon coeur qu'à Médrano, il s'y amusait comme un enfant" (I've never seen Picasso laugh so heartily than at Médrano, he enjoyed himself like a child). The structure survived for 99 years, from 1874 to 1973. It was only in the last 10 years of its existence that it was owned by the Bouglione family, and yet it is this name that the developers gave to the block of apartments that replaced the circus. The past is infinite, but memories are short.

The Medrano circus before and today

The paintings of the period give a good idea of what took place in the circuses of the time. Degas portrayed Mademoiselle La La being suspended above the audience with only her teeth clenching onto the rope. Seurat and Toulouse-Lautrec showed horses, clowns and acrobats, whilst Renoir pictured child performers. Is this what I should expect to see at the Diana Moreno circus?

A Toulouse-Lautrec sketch

If the truth be told, I've never been a fan of the circus. I suppose I was born at the wrong time, during a period when it was in decline. By the time it was given a renaissance by the new circus, the animal free spectacles of Archaos and the Cirque du Soleil I was too old. As this was a belle époque circus though, I knew I'd be seeing animals and I wasn't too comfortable with that. The website highlights the family aspect of the troupe, explaining that "même les animaux sont considérés comme des membres de la famille" (even the animals are considered to be members of the family), but I doubt that they truly get to sit at the same table to eat.

Tickets for the show are cheap on the internet, so I set out one Saturday afternoon to attempt the experience. The first thing to note is how far the circus tent is from the heart of the city, its rightful place in the 19th century. Here I leave the Metro then walk for fifteen minutes past warehouses, football pitches and over the motorway before finally spying the top of the tent behind corrugated fencing. Inside though, the decoration is cosy, 'handmade' according to the website, and welcoming. The tent is filled with the scent of animals, and dry ice announces the imminent start of the show.

For 10 Euros, I am impressed by the length of the spectacle, which stretches over nearly two hours. The children around me are also thrilled by the sights and sounds, the clowns, the acrobats and especially the animals. The show starts with eight tigers and continues with horses, llamas, yaks, doves, goats and dogs. It does all seem quaint and old-fashioned, but I am disturbed most by an obstacle course set up for a troupe of panicking ducks who are chased around the ring with sticks.

The show does entertain, but I see little of the glamour of the belle epoque. There is a certain amateurish quality to the show, which introduces a little nervous edginess. Could one of the horses jump over the small barrier and could the trapezeist slip from her rope? It is clear nevertheless that these are hard-working, talented people - the clown is also an acrobat and set shifter, whilst the female ringmaster is also a trapeze artist. There are no more than 100 spectators in attendance and to survive the family troupe have to be multi-functional. Even the grandparents seem to have been roped in to sell tickets and sweep up, whilst a girl who can be no older than six gives a five minute performance. It is difficult to imagine Degas being moved to paint this scene or Picasso laughing like a child at the show, but then in retrospect, we imagine everything to have been greater in the past.

Saints and Sinners (Part 2)

What do cities do with the places which throughout history have been the scene of suffering and humiliation? The city of Paris has been pondering this question since 1999, when the Hopital St Lazare was finally shut down, bringing to an end almost 900 years of treatment, punishment and isolation. How can this site be renovated and brought back into the heart of the city, and how can they remove the scars, wipe away the pain and tidy up the memories?

This site is a tale of two saints and a whole cast of sinners. It is a tale of decay, death and rebirth. It is a tale of a constant tearing down of walls, then the building of new structures with fresh purposes in their place. It is a tale mostly of women with many unhappy endings, but hopefully a tale which will end with a final note of optimism.

The first saint is Lazare, the name given to the site, today a hotchpotch collection of buildings behind the Square Alban Satragne. The second saint is Vincent de Paul who created a mission here and who today quietly surveys the scene from an adjoining wall. The use of the name Lazare for this spot dates back to the 11th century, but did they know how prophetic it would prove? The name was chosen as it was originally a shelter for lepers, for whom Lazare (Lazarus) is the patron saint, but with the subsequent history of the site, the constant destruction and rebuilding, the name has assumed a second resonance.

Walking around the crumbling buildings today gives a haunting insight into a past that Paris would very much like to forget. There are few places in a modern city where we get to see a ghost town, but here the jumble of structures from the last two hundred years are all empty and crumbling into ruin. The majority of buildings are still standing, mostly 20th century hospital structures, but the scars are still on display; broken windows and walls that have turned green with age. Renovation in the area has so far largely been confined to a zone outside the site, with a new school and playground in place, but even here there is a sense of unease. The playground contains three cowering pigs hiding from a wicked witch whilst a wooden cat silently overlooks the scene.

For around 500 years up until the French Revolution this site had seen only the calm treatment of the sick, but with the uprisings sparking mass arrests, every spare space in the city was required to house prisoners. The structure became the St Lazare Prison, with a famous early guest in 1794 being the Marquis de Sade. He was only held here for around two months though and was also someone who had seen the inside of almost every prison in the city! More poignantly, it was also here that the poet André Chénier wrote the poem ‘La Jeune Captive’ a handful of days before his eventual execution and only 19 days before the fall of Robespierre and the end of the terror.

Religious influence had been banished from the site during the revolution, but by the 19th century the site had assumed a bizarre triple role. It was transformed into a prison for women, but also contained a hospital wing and a Chapel. Nuns ran the service, but it was difficult to make any clear distinction between treatment and punishment. This period was famously chronicled by the writer and singer Aristide Bruant in a song called ‘A Saint Lazare’ written from the perspective of one of the female prisoners here. She sings;

"C'est la misère. Ici tout l'monde est décavé" (It’s pitiable. Everyone here is ruined)

Conditions were harsh inside, but they were little better outside the walls. Working class women in the 19th century had tough lives ridden through with malnourishment and alcoholism which often led to the reasons for their being locked up, the petty crimes and casual prostitution that they resorted to simply to survive. The hospital wing was used mostly for sick prostitutes, but how to tell the difference between this and the prison? They never left and had few visitors, and were kept here mostly to protect the city. They were the lepers of the period.

Other female prisoners were more political, notably the anarchist and communard Louise Michel who was here in 1883, and later Mata Hari in 1917. The latter underwent what was said to be a humiliating interrogation here during which she confessed to receiving money from German officers in Madrid. Whether this was a simple form of prostitution or the spying she was tried for is not clear, but it was rendered irrelevant by her execution later that year.

Louis-Pierre Baltard’s Chapel still survives today (the father of Victor, the creator of the market halls of Les Halles), but the majority of the other buildings date from the most recent incarnation of the site, the hospital which was re-established in 1935. Even when the site became a hospital again, the calm did not return. The hospital had a curious speciality, as it was here that the city prostitutes were taken for obligatory medical check-ups. Even after this law was removed (1946), a service ‘Saint Lazare’ still existed, and it was here that prostitutes were taken after being rounded up by the police (until 1975).

Today the site is silent but it is easy to imagine the sounds of tears and screaming breaking through the thick, stone walls. To the credit of the city, they have not taken the easy path of destruction and rebuilding, but are attempting to recreate a more positive environment within these haunted walls. The Chapel will become a performance space and galleries will be placed in the wings. There will also be a creche, an infant school, a gymnasium, park and a library. This may not be able to right the wrongs of the past, but it does provide hope for the future.

Saints and Sinners (Part 1)

In every city there are corners masking history we would like to overlook and buildings suppressing stories we would like to forget. At the Faubourg St Denis near Gare de l'Est, it is easy to walk past the rather sad looking Square Alban Satragne without giving it a second thought, until you look at the wall in front of you and notice a large pair of eyes. You may choose to cross the road or walk towards the Square, but each time you glance back, the eyes are still following you. Now you cannot help but ask questions - who is this man, and what does he want to tell me?

Placed on this wall in 1987 by the artist Jean-Pierre Yvaral, this work of art is a portrait of St Vincent de Paul. It is a fantastically clever installation, not painted or stencilled but in fact a very careful arrangement of blades of metal. Yvaral was fascinated by the possibilities offered to artists by the digital age, and he used computers to experiment with form and structure. In this example, machines could define the necessary form to make the installation work, then ensure that the blades were cut to exactly the right shape. It is only when you get very close to the installation that you see how it was constructed and the eyes stop following you! (Try looking at this point on Google Street View - roughly 105 Rue du Faubourg St Denis).

(Photos taken from La Panse de l'Ours)

Who though was Saint Vincent de Paul, and why was this wall chosen? The name Vincent de Paul is one that pops up regularly in the city; a chapel in the 6th arrondissement, a hospital in the 14th, but here he overlooks what was his home. This spot was previously a marshland, a boggy wasteland alongside an old stretch of the Seine, and had since the early middle ages provided a refuge for lepers. Comfortably for the residents of Paris, it was situated just the other side of the city walls, but slowly it fell into abandon. Vincent de Paul was therefore able to purchase the land and remaining buildings in 1632 for a good price and create his own mission, known as the Lazaristes, looking after the sick and needy.

Vincent de Paul was involved in the creation of many charitible bodies, and he quickly grew in renown, so much so that the king Louis XIII requested his presence on his death bed and was to die in his arms. With so many good deeds to his name, he was made a Saint 70 years after his death, in 1737. His creation at this spot remained a hospital after his death until the French revolution when it was requisitioned and turned into a prison. Later, and until 1999, it was turned back into a hospital, but today, it is simply a ramshackle collection of buildings waiting to be renovated or pulled down. That history though is another story or collection of stories!

Next: Prisons, prayers and prostitutes.

Note: Google Street View gives a very good idea of this interesting area. If it does not display below, search for 105 Rue du Faubourg St Denis.


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Blinded by the Sun

The winter has been unusually harsh in Paris and those who have not slipped away to snow-heavy mountain slopes are now waiting impatiently for the return of the warm rays of the spring sun. The days are stretching longer, but February still brings drizzle to smear the streets and chilly winds that force us to keep scarves tightened. The inhabitants of the city try to find light and warmth where they can, and for a slice of both, I decide to push open the door of "Le Soleil de Paris".

I have often walked past this restaurant without feeling the need to enter, but this time the glow from the interior pulls me inside. It should be noted that there are two interesting things about this place; firstly that it is run by Asian owners who serve up traditional French bistrot cuisine, and secondly that it is a true monument to kitsch.

Paris is not short of Asian restaurants, a legacy of colonial interests notably in Vietnam, but it is rare to find restaurateurs in this community moving into more traditional French fare. It remains obvious that this establishment was one that previously served Chinese food, with several elements betraying the culinary changes. The door handles still show Chinese characters, the name of the restaurant features a reference to one of the primary elements and most clearly of all, the extraordinary decor inside has not changed.

Le Soleil is a well chosen name for an establishment that gives you the impression of being seated inside the heart of a star. Every centimetre of wall and column inside this restaurant is caked in reflective gold tiling, whilst the ceiling is a series of mirrored squares. Dotted around the room are rows of potted fake flowers and chinese knick-knacks, whilst the salt and pepper pots on the table are a pair of dice. When the menu is brought to the table though, the ordinariness of the choices is striking.

Whilst more upmarket French restaurants are quick to flaunt the Asian twists to their cuisine there is no hint of any Chinese influence in these dishes beyond a slice of orange on the edge of each plate. In truth, the food is standard fare, but no worse than that at many of the more expensive Parisian brasseries in the area. The interest comes not from what is served on your plate but from the sight of your lunch reflected in gold on the walls and ceiling. The mirrors can also help us to reflect on the journey that took these people from East to West, and from rice to potato.

Further Information:
47 Rue De Provence, Paris 75009
Lunch Menu, Starter/Main/Dessert €14.40

Grisettes and Lorettes

Near the bottom of the Rue du Faubourg du Temple, at the point where the Canal St Martin dives undergound, a curious scene has been played out for the last 100 years. On one side of the street sits the bust of the 19th century actor Fréderick Lemaitre, eyes and nose lifted towards the sky in defiance or perhaps contempt. Who is he trying to avoid? The answer is seemingly on the opposite side of the street where another statue is stood, this time of a young girl known simply as ‘La Grisette’. With a basket of flowers in her hands and a bun in her hair, she looks imploringly across the road towards the actor.

The path of true love never did run smooth, but what caused these two to fall into an eternity of loathing? The answer is possibly inscribed on the plinths - La Grisette, 1830, and Fréderick Lemaitre, 1800 – 1876. In Paris in the first half of the 19th century, the situation between men and women was a critical one. At the beginning of the century, there were 115 women for every 100 men, but by 1830 this figure was radically altered. With the influx of males to the city from rural areas attracted by work in the new industries there were now 90 women for every 100 men. Women were suddenly in a position of power, and in more ways than one they intended to make men pay.

Two female myths grew out of this period – the Grisette and the Lorette. The Grisette here in statue form, (made by the sculptor Jean Descomps in 1909) is simply a representation of a certain kind of female city inhabitant, typically a young factory worker or itinerant street vendor. The chosen position here was not an accidental one as many such girls would have lived in this area, selling food or flowers in the surrounding streets or working in one the factories along the canal. The actor Lemaitre (sculpted here by Pierre Granet in 1898) was also a regular of this neighbourhood, featuring mainly in hysterical crime plays on the Boulevards nearby. These two must surely have bumped into each other on numerous occasions.

In the popular consciousness of the time though, la Grisette was more than just a hard working girl. It is the French comic author Paul de Kock who has been credited with the creation of the Grisette myth, turning this innocent image into something far more alluring and exotic. As de Kock wrote, la Grisette;

“..est à la fois si folle, si gaie, si vive, si légère, si tendre, si romanesque, si mélancolique, si passionnée; cette femme…qui dépense en une soirée le fruit de huit jours de travail. Cette femme, mélange bizarre de vertus, de vices, de sensibilité, de caprices, de malices, d’inconséquences, de rires et de larmes“(1).
(..who is at once so mad, so gay, so lively, so superficial, so tender, so romantic, so melancholic, so passionate; this woman who spends the profits of eight days of work in one evening. This woman, a strange mixture of virtues, vices, sensibility, whims, mischievousness, inconsistencies, laughter and tears).

The Grisette was a girl who spent more than she earned, but who had an elder male ‘friend’, a shopkeeper or wholesaler who would pay her debts. Her other male friend, a much younger painter or student, was the weekend friend, her passion and the one who would take her to fashionable balls and restaurants. In many ways, she was the inspiration for Emile Zola’s Nana and Victor Hugo’s Fantine.

The actor Frederick Lemaitre was probably keen to avoid this girl because he set his sights higher, possibly towards the Lorettes, but who exactly were these ladies? This time they were the invention of an illustrator, Gavarni, who imagined them as fashionable young women, free from the pressures of men and financial worries. He named them after the district in which they were most commonly to be seen, behind the Notre Dame de Lorette church. Baudelaire later tried to describe Gavarni’s vision in one of his essays:

“La Lorette est une personne libre. Elle va et elle vient. Elle tient maison ouverte. Elle n'a pas de maître; elle fréquente les artistes et les journalistes".
(The Lorette is somebody who is free. She comes and goes. She has an open house. She doesn’t have a master; she frequents artists and journalists.)

One of Gavarni's sketches. The accompanying text image read "Mon adoré, dis-moi ton petit nom" (My darling, tell me your pet name)

The crucial point and the one true element that separated the Lorette from the Grisette was the notion of independence. The Grisette had to work and to work hard, whilst other ladies were financially tied to one particular man. The Lorette though was not a kept lady, but one who managed to maintain several relationships at once with men who did not have the means to pay for exclusivity. The Lorette was free to follow trends and be seen at the most fashionable events. As the writer La Bédollière described(3), the swish of silk as she walked and the careful adjusting of clothing as she passed a mirror made her easy to recognise.

The once fashionable Rue St Lazare, home of the Lorettes.

The somewhat light-hearted image of these ladies did though hide a much darker side, touched on with Hugo's Fantine. She is abandoned by her aristocratic lover and is eventually forced into prostitution. This was clearly a route some of the grisettes took, but the Lorettes had another enemy - age. La Bédollière gave a list of the current situations of a selection of Lorettes twenty years later, the majority of whom were said to have died an early death. Others now worked in toilets, were cleaners or had gone mad. This list was surely humourous, but it was probably not too far from the truth either. As the 19th century progressed, the population ratios swang back towards a majority of women and the golden age of these women had passed. Those who had survived through this period and had not found a reliable husband were left to age painfully and desperately in an increasingly harsh city. It is no wonder then that La Grisette should still be looking so imploringly over towards a potential helping hand.

References:
(1) Paul de Cock, “La Première Amie” (1842)
(2) Baudelaire, “Quelques caricaturistes français” (1857)
(3) Émile de La Bédollière, “Le Nouveau Paris, histoire de ses 20 arrondissements“ (1860)