Old and New Paris: Its History, Its People, and Its Places, v. 2

by H. Sutherland Edwards

Private shops, however, have of course played no such part in the provisioning of Paris as has fallen to the lot of the markets, which, in olden times, could only be opened and maintained by the lord of the manor. In distant times, the landed proprietor had the right of life and death over his subjects, and a few years before the Revolution, every market in Paris had its pillory, and even its gallows. It was in the king’s name, however, that justice was executed; and, in most cases, the pillory and the gibbet of the Paris market-place were mere emblems. The Prior of the Temple, the Abbé of St. Geneviève, the Abbé of St. Germain des Prés, had each a pillory in the markets established on their territory.

The royal pillory was situated at the place in the fish-market where sea-fish is now cried. It was an octagonal turret, crowned by a roof in the form of an extinguisher. At the top of the turret, beneath the roof, was a horizontal wheel pierced with holes and turning on a pivot. The holes were for the head and hands of the victim; the wheel was put in movement, and the poor wretch was subjected, circularly and methodically, to the gaze of the crowd. The pillory offered an attractive spectacle to the mob; and it was there that the bodies of criminals, who had been executed at the Place de Grève, were exposed before being hung up at the gallows of Montfaucon. Near the pillory stood the gibbet, here employed only under grave circumstances. On the gibbet of the fish-market was hanged Jean de Montaigu. Later on, in 1418, Capeluche, the executioner of Paris, was beheaded (he ranked, for certain purposes, with gentlemen) for having, it was said, taken too familiarly the hand of the Duke of Burgundy. The known facts of the case were these:—Capeluche had distinguished himself in the massacres which followed the triumph of the Burgundian faction in 1418. The Duke of Burgundy gave publicly his hand to this vile instrument of his vengeance, but had his head cut off soon afterwards. The executioner, with wonderful self-possession, showed his inexperienced assistant how he was to wield the axe so as not to miss his victim. Here also, on a lofty scaffold, constructed expressly for the purpose, and covered over with black, Jacques d’Armagnac perished by the sword. Before ascending the fatal ladder, he had said his last prayers in the fish-market, which had been washed and perfumed with vinegar and juniper, in order to get rid of the disagreeable smell.

Between the pillory and the gibbet, a large cross stretched out its arms of stone. Beneath its shadow insolvent debtors surrendered their property, and received the traditional cap of green wool which the executioner himself placed on their heads. The bankrupts’ cross and the pillory disappeared a few years before the Revolution, in 1786; though it is to the Revolution itself that the credit of the abolition is generally given.

A word must be said about the “market ladies,” the “dames de la halle,” and the privileges they enjoyed. It will be remembered that during a severe famine they went in a body, with their starving children, to beg relief from Louis XV. At happier moments they waited upon the sovereign on some festive occasion, to present him with congratulations and a huge bouquet. It was to their corporation that Mme. Angot and her celebrated daughter belonged. They were notorious for their freedom of speech, and little attention was paid to a police ordinance of the year 1738, which forbade them, under penalty of imprisonment and a fine of one hundred francs, to insult passers-by. But times have changed, and the manners of the “market ladies” with them.

After speaking of “les dames de la halle,” it would be invidious to pass over in silence “les forts de la halle,” the Strong Men of the market. The internal service of this market is entrusted to some five hundred strong men, who earn from sixty to a hundred and twenty pounds a year. These official porters form a syndicate, and offer all possible guarantees of probity, good conduct, and punctuality. Not only must they submit to a thorough examination of their private life, they are also tested physically and in the severest manner. But they go through the regulation exercises as through a game. To the strong men is confided the duty of unloading the carts and the waggons, and carrying their contents to the stalls and shops of the markets. The market regulations in view of fire are very strict, especially those adopted and promulgated in 1865, by which smoking and the use of lucifers and all unenclosed lights are forbidden. Lanterns are alone permitted. The right of selling in the public markets is a privilege sold by the municipality. A butcher’s stall is worth 3 francs[{316}] a day; a stall for the sale of sea-fish 1·25, for the sale of fresh fish 1·50, for poultry 1 franc, for vegetables 75 centimes; oysters 20 centimes, and sundries 5 centimes a day for each square yard of space.

Some years ago a question was raised as to whether the markets ought to be covered over; and an answer was given in the negative by a high official of the Préfecture, who authoritatively declared that “bad weather was not appreciably injurious to vegetables exposed in the market-place.” It is quite possible that turnips, carrots, and cabbages may suffer little or nothing from hail and heavy rain. But human beings may be seriously affected by inclement weather; and in this belief it has been proposed, hitherto in vain, that covered stalls with glass windows should be constructed for use during stormy nights.

The butchers’ stalls are supplied by rail, and the greatest activity prevails among them after the arrival of the early morning trains. Towards five o’clock arrive a number of women who, like the wise virgins of the parable, are the bearers of lamps. They assemble at the corner of the Rue Rambuteau, and a portable desk is brought forward, at which a man takes his seat. The roll-call of the strong men is then read, and if one of them has not arrived he is released for the day, that is to say, he loses his day’s wages. Five o’clock strikes, and the women with the lanterns may go to work. The time for the sale of water-cress has begun.

Everyone is now at his post—the factor and his clerks, the public crier, the inspector of the market, or his agent, and the collector of municipal taxes.

At each fresh bell signal—and the bells in connection with the markets correspond to the drums of the barrack-yard—new departments of the markets are opened, and private purchasers begin to arrive: non-commissioned officers, accompanied by soldiers bearing large sacks; nuns purchasing for the religious houses; stewards of the gymnasiums, and other large schools, together with various wholesale buyers, who have come to lay in their daily supplies. The arrival of the fish from Dieppe or Havre is always an incident of importance; received with agitation, shouts, and bustle of every kind. Sometimes the wind has been unfavourable; the fishing-boats have not got to shore, and there has been nothing to send. There is then a general feeling of consternation among both dealers and purchasers; though, among the latter, no Vatel stabs himself at the thought of having to serve a dinner in which fish will not be a component part. It is to be feared that when, on one particular day, fish does not arrive, fish of the preceding day is cooked in place of it.

Much of the fish comes from England and Belgium. More than half of the mussels imported into France are of Belgian origin. The Ostend oysters, so much prized at Paris, came until lately from the shores of Essex. But such oysters as England can still afford to export go now to Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Vienna.