Reaching today’s final destination will require a stroll of about twenty-five minutes’ time, but it will be justifiable exertion. Continue westwards along Avenue de Madrid, as it leads into Boulevard du Commandant Charcot; when you come to the Porte de Madrid intersection — note the two neo-Gothic guardhouses — turn right onto Boulevard Richard Wallace, and then left at Route de Sèvres à Neuilly. Soon you’ll spot the turret-flanked gates of the Parc de Bagatelle.
Just to the left, through a pair of white sentry pavilions, you’ll see the heart-stirringly pretty Château de Bagatelle. Painted blush-pink and adorned with creamy florals and friezes, the villa looks like it was conjured from a dream. In actual fact, it came about due to a wager. In 1777, Marie Antoinette bet her brother-in-law, the Comte d’Artois, that he could not build a château in under 100 days. With the help of 800 around-the-clock workers and millions of livres, the count completed the task in a mere sixty-three days. In response to the queen’s congratulations, he shrugged ‘Madame, ce n’est qu’une bagatelle.’ It’s only a trifle. And that’s how the château was christened. Or so one story goes.
Bagatelle can also mean a thing of frivolity, a trinket. And the château’s architecture tapped into the day’s desire for petite living proportions. Above the doorway of Bagatelle you’ll see, written in gold, Parva Sed Apta, which roughly translates as: Small but Suitable. Certainly the interiors were suitably regal — because modest spaces, of course, did not mean that luxury had to be cut down to size. Guided tours usually only occur on a Sunday afternoon, so you might have to make do with peeking through the bow windows. Wander around to the rear and you’ll hopefully get a glimpse into the music room, topped by a domed ceiling decorated with coffers and trompe l’oeil.
The true joy of Bagatelle is its gardens, now a much-loved picnic destination for Parisians of all ages. They were initially commissioned à l’anglaise, and the rambling quality remains. But even as past owners professed their love for informal English gardens, they couldn’t resist adding some French touches. And so all sorts of follies abounded: temples and grottoes that looked like they had been dropped in from the other side of the world; Chinese pagodas and Japanese bridges; houses and huts inspired by Switzerland, Holland and India … The only original folly is the Grand Rocher waterfall. Although that doesn’t make the other newer flourishes any less appealing. You’ll delight in the playful bridges and Chinoiserie gazebos, often draped in a peacock or two, and the neo-Rococo folly of a guardhouse over by the park’s eastern gates, with their swirl of turquoise and gold.
It’s not a stretch to feel yourself on a fairytale film set art-directed by Jean Cocteau himself. This place is surreally beautiful, with its eccentric touches as much as its heightened natural beauty. If it’s spring, pollen-drunk bees buzz around the peonies and wisteria, and daffodils and narcissus push through the daisy-strewn lawn. In summer, don’t miss the rose garden, as it bursts into fragrant bloom in readiness for the famous annual competition. Walk around the perfumed parterre, accented by topiary cones, and through the rose-woven trellis. It’s a sensorial pleasure that will stay with you long after your taxi or train has taken you back to town, when you find yourself shaking your head at the day’s madcap memories. C’est la folie, indeed.
Itinerary
• Le Nemours: 2 Place Colette 75001; 07.00-01.00 (Monday-Friday), 08.00-01.00 (Saturday), 09.00-21.00 (Sunday)
• Palais-Royal 75001
• Galerie Véro-Dodat 75001
• Galerie Vivienne 75002
• Galerie Colbert 75002
• Passage Choiseul 75002
• Passage des Panoramas 75009
• Musée Grévin: 10 Boulevard Montmartre 75009; 09.00-17.00 (Monday-Saturday); closed Sunday
• Passage Jouffroy 75009
• Passage Verdeau 75009
Paris is for many things, but shopping must surely be towards the top of that list. There’s something in this city to suit every shopping personality. You can binge-shop at the department stores, take the haute road and go all out on the city’s designer strips, or hunt down that elusive French girl chic in the boutiques of Saint-Germain. But one of my favourite forms of le shopping is to make like Parisiennes did two centuries ago, and fossick through the covered arcades, the city’s celebrated galeries and passages.
It’s an enjoyably slow style of retail therapy, off the beaten track and away from the bargain-hunting or fashion-obsessed crowds. So start late, and settle in for a long, lazy breakfast at Le Nemours, an ever-so-stylish café whose terrace is set among a series of dramatically towering Doric columns in the Palais-Royal complex. From here you can admire the square’s bejewelled Métro station entrance, by artist Jean-Michel Othoniel, or revel in your prime position for people-watching — you might well see a star of the Comédie-Française, situated just across the way behind the other colossal colonnade, coming for a caffeine hit before rehearsals get underway.
If you need a literary date to keep you and your croissant company, you can’t find a more perfect author than Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, the beloved French author this square is named after. She made the Palais-Royal her final abode, in 1938, and knew she was home from the first morning, when she awoke to the sound of raking, rustling leaves, reminding her of her Burgundian childhood, when she ran wild like a wood nymph through dense forests, bathed in crystalline springs, and feasted from sun-sweetened strawberry bushes.
The Palais-Royal gardens are indeed an earthly paradise worthy of Colette. To get there, take the gate up to your right. You’ll come into the palace’s old cour d’honneur, now an art installation, featuring the Colonnes de Buren. When artist Daniel Buren stuck his lolly-like liquorice-striped sticks here in the mid-1980s, there was uproar, but these days the pillars seem more whimsical than wacky, and classical, too, in the way they cleverly echo the surrounding colonnades and monochromatic colour scheme.
Continue walking north, into the enclosed gardens. It’s hard not to find yourself here, actually; it’s like you’re drawn by a magnetic force. Or perhaps it’s an enchantment, some sort of spell that wills you along the rows of linden trees that are irresistible in any season: in summer, they’re verdant and lush, providing cool reprieve from the sun-beaten gravel; in autumn, the ombré golden and bronze leaves fall and weave themselves into long crisp carpets; and in winter, they’re severely elegant, when their clipped shapes are thrown into sharp relief. If it’s spring, you’re in extra luck, because this is when the garden truly bewitches, when the lime blossoms attract the city’s bees, which also feast on the pollen of the magnolias, horse chestnuts and daffodils.
At the northern end of the garden, look up to see the first-floor window that is marked by the symbol of a C placed on a star. It was from here that Colette inhaled the linden-and chestnut-infused air, and no doubt reminisced on her childhood of berry-picking and mushroom-gathering. Colette was unmatched in her penetrating portraits and grasp of complex emotions, but it was in her descriptions of nature that she truly came alive. To read her evocative prose on one of the green chairs scattered here and there in this garden — where Colette would sit, with a cup of infusion tea — is to experience a quintessentially Parisian moment.
Regardless of the time of day or year, the central fountain of the Palais-Royal is usually ringed by Parisians lost in books or in thought or in appreciative contemplation of the beauty around them. So calming is the scene that it’s hard to believe this was once one of the most debauched of all Parisian destinations. Which — before our shopping day gets underway — brings us to a short history lesson … Built by the Sun King’s chief minister Cardinal Richelieu in the early 1600s, the then Palais-Cardinal turned into a royal palace after becoming home to the Ducs d’Orléans later in the century. It was when one of the most notorious of that lineage, Philippe II, found himself regent to the young Louis XV that the Palais-Royal styled itself into a party destination, with wild all-night festivities for the duke’s circle of powder-faced playboys and
rouge-cheeked actresses. But it was his great-grandson who really took the raucous reputation to another level.
Louis Philippe II’s extravagant lifestyle saw him in need of fundraising, and he hit on a scheme for redeveloping his palatial garden into a pleasure ground for all Parisians. He had the three wings that frame the northern end of the estate built, renting out the ground spaces as shops and restaurants, while filling the upper floors with dance rooms, gaming dens, billiard halls and brothels. In the middle of the garden enclave there was a circus where acrobatic riders thrilled the crowds, and all sorts of puppet shows and dance performances entertained in the groves of fancifully cut trees. Thousands of Parisians strolled, drank, conversed and flirted in these botanical arcades. In this giddy atmosphere, it felt as though anything could happen. The Palais-Royal was a fairground, bazaar and dance party, all in one. It was open day and night, and open to all Parisians — except for police. So you can imagine the air of abandon. Much was lost here. Virginity — the future Emperor Napoléon claimed his first female conquest in this very garden. Money — although you could always see the various mortgage agents that had set up shop, or pawnbrokers, to sell your precious gold watch if need be.
Louis Philippe II’s heady vision, inaugurated in 1784, struck him gold, but also eventually cost the duke his head, as he had unwittingly laid the fertile ground for the French Revolution. It was here where courtesans passed as countesses, a precursor of a democratic future France, and where, far from the watchful eyes of the authorities, political discussions could gather momentum, morphing into full-blown movements. The sans-culotte Camille Desmoulins gave a particularly impassioned anti-royalty speech from atop a table of a café terrace; two days later the Bastille was stormed, and the rest is l’histoire.
The Revolution barely stopped the party at the newly christened Palais-Égalité which, if anything, became all the more hedonistic, especially by the dawning of the new century. Perhaps it was a case of post-traumatic partying. Women in insouciant, even insolent, muslin gowns mingled with dashingly dressed dandies, drinking and dancing and generally debauching the nights, and bad memories, away. By now internationally infamous, the Palais-Royal was the first stop on the Parisian itinerary for the English, Russian and Prussian soldiers who flooded the city after Napoléon’s defeat in 1815. Many stayed here for days, partaking in every excess on offer. But all good things come to an end … when newly conservative authorities banned gambling in 1836, the Palais-Royal (as it had been renamed; royalty was once again in fashion) settled down into a curious relic of an earlier age, reduced in circumstances like an aged grande dame with a shady past. That quiet air of frayed gentility lingers to this day.
Walk through one of the gated arches, prettily decorated with sculpted florals and languorous lamps that drop like crystal pendants, and wander along the trio of tiled arcades, trying to conjure up those hedonistic days. A faded sign at mezzanine level might give you a clue to a shop’s former life. Only one of the original restaurants — the iconic Le Grand Véfour — remains. A handful of curio boutiques hark back, too: À l’Oriental (19-22 Galerie de Chartres) has sold pipes and various tobacco-related paraphernalia since 1818; Bacqueville (6-8 Galerie du Montpensier) has fashioned medals for two centuries — its shelves brimming with candy-striped ribbons are a joy to behold.
By eleven o’clock, the boutiques of this sleepy village have mostly opened. Make sure to ring the bell of Didier Ludot (24 Galerie de Montpensier) and ooh over his vintage designer dresses, and then breathe in the luscious fragrances of Serge Lutens (142 Galerie de Valois). Several high-fashion names, such as Stella McCartney (114-121 Galerie de Valois), have also made the Palais-Royal their unexpected home, which is inspired, because the Palais-Royal, on top of everything else, was one of the world’s first modern shopping malls.
Walk back towards Daniel Buren’s columns. In Louis Philippe II’s time, there was a vast wooden shed here — the Galeries de Bois. Inspired by the souks of Arabia, the wooden galleries were a series of passages lined with shops that sold books, accessories and homewares. They were dimly lit by skylight windows during the day, faint lanterns at night, the ground was often muddy, and the whole place seemed messy and makeshift, but the city’s first shopping centre was a huge hit. As post-revolutionary Paris recovered financially, the Galeries de Bois were replaced by the Galerie d’Orléans, a tiled stretch of boutiques and cafés trimmed with mirrors, illuminated by gas lamps and fanlight windows, under a glass-and-iron canopy. It became the go-to for the most stylish Parisiennes, who honed the art of shopping here, buying the latest accessories and perfume, while also slipping some romance books into their baskets. The open-air colonnade that runs between the garden and courtyard is all that’s left of the Galerie d’Orléans. It was demolished in the early twentieth century, in the era of the department store’s dominance. Fortunately, some of the city’s old covered arcades remain.
Exit the Palais-Royal just to the east of the Buren columns, heading across Place de Valois through to Rue Montesquieu, at the end of which you’ll see the striped awning and flowering window boxes of Café de L’Époque. This pretty eatery sits by the arched entrance of Galerie Véro-Dodat, above which statues of Hermes and Hercules set the neo-Classical tone. Venture inside, along the chequerboard marble floor that creates the illusion of infinity. The glass roof is fairly simple, but walk slowly and you’ll notice decorative touches, such as paintings of Roman deities, wooden shopfronts with arched windows trimmed in old gold, and lambent glass-ball lamps suspended from wall brackets, on which stand cherubs surrounded by cornucopia.
Dating from 1826, Véro-Dodat was one of the first passageways to be lit with gas. You can easily see how it immediately became a destination for all things chic. It housed magazine publishers and print sellers, while the superstar actress Rachel Félix, the sensation of the nearby Comédie-Française, lived in one of the apartments upstairs. Many of the boutiques now belong to shoe designer Christian Louboutin, so if you’ve ever hankered for a pair of his lipstick-red-soled stilettos, this would be an ideal time to splurge.
Fancy shoes and shopping arcades go nicely hand in hand. One reason covered retail strips like this one became so popular is that they gave Parisiennes an escape from Paris’s streets which, being unpaved in the early nineteenth century, were muddy hell for heels and hemlines. But now Parisiennes could walk, and sans male chaperone at that, because these arcades — which, at the time, criss-crossed over much of the Right Bank — were safe, bright, female-friendly spaces. They allowed Parisiennes to find their own urban space, to start new leisure traditions: impulse-shopping for beautiful things (lacy parasols, satin gloves, feathered hats) and devouring sweet treats in salons de thé. By the 1870s, there were over 150 covered arcades, but their popularity waned with the creation of department stores, and wider, cleaner streets. Fewer than twenty such arcades remain, some quite shabby, others restored to appeal to nostalgic types who yearn to travel back into a time when there was, well, time.
Retrace your steps (Louboutin-clad or not) to Place de Valois, whose buildings used to house the servants of the Palais-Royal. Look up to the balcony and windows of the old palace: a Rococo flourish on a classical mass of stone as only a Parisian architect knows how to do. From here, skirt around the frame of the Palais-Royal gardens, walking the streets that Louis Philippe II installed when remodelling his palace into a pleasure park. Many of the façades along the outer side of Rue de Valois, Rue de Beaujolais and Rue de Montpensier are the back of buildings that once had direct access to the palace’s old gardens — and whose owners were no doubt irked to find themselves not only deprived of a view, but also kept up all night by the Palais-Royal’s new generation of partygoers. Still, the enclave of the Palais-Royal was never shut off to the surrounding world; it connects in lovely ways, an arched walkway or a colonnaded courtyard leading you through to a staired passageway that slips you out onto a busy street, like secrets paths between parallel universes.
The Pa
ssage des Deux Pavillons, traced between two old buildings that inspired the mini arcade’s name, is one such pathway, a crooked corridor that seems to take you into another world. Which it does, in a way, because just across from its other entrance on Rue des Petits Champs is Galerie Vivienne. Walk beneath the elaborate arched doorway framed by indolent nymphs, and you can’t help but melt at the loveliness of the swirled mosaic floor and the moulded wreaths and goddesses on the buttery-cream walls. Make a stop at Legrand Filles et Fils (no.11), passing through the sleek wine bar (mental-note: this serves up a great wine and cheese plate for rainy afternoons) through to the grocery store out back that has been selling French sweets since 1919. Further ahead, you’ll find another antique within an antique: Librairie Jousseaume (nos.45-46-47), a bookstore that is almost as old as the 1823 arcade itself. Devote time for rummaging through the two cosy, cluttered rooms, making sure to spiral up the old stairs as you do. You’ll find an inspired mix of the old and new, in many languages. If you haven’t had enough Colette yet, buy one of her classics here, in what was the author’s favourite bookstore.
When you reach Rue Vivienne, turn left and a few doors down you’ll find Galerie Colbert. It belongs to the Institut National d’Histoire d’Art these days, but a guard will let you wander in. It’s hard to imagine the days when this was a bustling shopping mecca, so quiet is the space now. But the Empire-style décor, albeit a reconstruction (when the gallery was renovated in the 1980s, its original inner structure was too dilapidated to be saved), can still be much admired — the Corinthian columns that once separated the boutiques, the mezzanine fanlight windows, and the magnificent centre rotunda decorated with Pompeian motifs.
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