A Wanderer in Paris

by E. V. Lucas

Returning to the Grands Boulevards, the next street on the left is the Rue Rougemont, and if we take this we come in a few moments to the Conservatoire, where so many famous musicians have been taught, and where Coquelin and Sarah Bernhardt learned the art of elocution. There is a little museum at the Conservatoire in which every variety of musical instrument is preserved, together with a few personal relics, such as a cast of Paganini's nervous magical hand, with its long sharply pointed fingers, and the death-mask of Chopin.

Close to the Conservatoire is the darkest church in Paris—Saint Eugène, a favourite spot for funeral services. I chanced once to stay in a room overlooking this church, until the smell of mortality became too constant. There was a funeral every day: every morning the undertakers' men were busy in the preparations for the ceremony—draping the façade with heavy curtains of a blackness that seemed to darken the circumambient air: every afternoon removing it, together with the other trappings of the ritual—the candlesticks and furniture. It is not without reason that the French undertaker ambushes beneath the imposing style of Pompes Funèbres.

It was, by the way, on the walls of Saint Eugène, each side of the door, that I first saw any of those curious affiches, made, I suppose, necessary, or at any rate prudent, by recent events in France, directing notice to—advertising, I almost wrote, and indeed why not?—the advantages of religion. Religion (this is what the notice came to in essence), religion has its points after all. When President Fallières' daughter was married, it remarked, where was the ceremony performed? In a church. (Ha, Ha!) Who, it asked, is called to visit a man on his death-bed, no matter how wicked he has been? A priest. (Touché!) And so forth. Surely a strange document.

In the same street is an old book-stall whose shelves are fastened to the wall, giving the appearance of an open-air library for all—the Carnegie idea at its best. There used to be one on the side of the Hôtel Chatham in the Rue Volney (opposite Henry's excellent American Bar) but it has now gone.

We may regain the Boulevards by turning down the long Rue du Faubourg Poissonière, which leads direct, through the Rue Montorgeuil, to the Halles and the Pont Neuf—a very good walk. Passing Marguery's great restaurant on the left, famous for its filet de sole in a special sauce, which every one should eat once if only to see the great Marguery on his triumphant progress through the rooms, bending his white mane over honoured guests, we come to a strange thing—a massive archway in the road, parallel with the pavements, which I think needs a little explanation. It will take us far from the Grands Boulevards: as far, in fact, as The Golden Legend; for the arch is the Porte St. Denis, and St. Denis is the patron saint of Paris.

LE PONT DE MANTES
COROT
(Louvre: Moreau Collection)

St. Denis was not a Frenchman but an Athenian, who was converted by St. Paul in person, after considerable discussion. Indeed, discussion was not enough: it needed a miracle to win him wholly. "And as," wrote Caxton, "S. Denis disputed yet with S. Paul, there passed by adventure by that way a blind man tofore them, and anon Denis said to Paul: If thou say to this blind man in the name of thy God: See, and then he seeth, I shall anon believe in him, but thou shalt use no words of enchantment, for thou mayst haply know some words that have such might and virtue. And S. Paul said: I shall write tofore the form of the words, which be these: In the name of Jesu Christ, born of the virgin, crucified and dead, which arose again and ascended into heaven, and from thence shall come for to judge the world: See. And because that all suspicion be taken away, Paul said to Denis that he himself should pronounce the words. And when Denis had said those words in the same manner to the blind man, anon the blind man recovered his sight. And then Denis was baptized and Damaris his wife and all his meiny, and was a true Christian man and was instructed and taught by S. Paul three years, and was ordained bishop of Athens, and there was in predication, and converted that city, and great part of the region, to christian faith."

Denis was sent to France by Pope Clement, and he converted many Parisians and built many churches, until the hostile strategy of the Emperor Domitian prevailed and he was tortured, the scene of the tragedy being Montmartre. "The day following," says Caxton, "Denis was laid upon a gridiron, and stretched all naked upon the coals of fire, and there he sang to our Lord saying: Lord thy word is vehemently fiery, and thy servant is embraced in the love thereof. And after that he was put among cruel beasts, which were excited by great hunger and famine by long fasting, and as soon as they came running upon him he made the sign of the cross against them, and anon they were made most meek and tame. And after that he was cast into a furnace of fire, and the fire anon quenched, and he had neither pain ne harm. And after that he was put on the cross, and thereon he was long tormented, and after, he was taken down and put into a dark prison with his fellows and many other Christian men.