On April 1st‚ 1948‚ exactly the same news spread through Les Halles and made the usual round.
‘He’s really going too far‚’ said his colleagues. And no one thought any more about it. At La Tournelle‚ everyone agreed this inveterate stupidity could rebound on him badly.
Little did they know how right they were. The next day it turned out that the butcher‚ having set off late the day before‚ had stopped off at several bars along the way. He’d even offered a young man a lift. Five hundred metres from his house‚ sure enough‚ André Gantot had factured his skull against a tree. The young man was unhurt. We later saw him. ‘André bled like an ox‚’ he told us. ‘He didn’t skid‚ he drove straight into the tree at top speed. As if he were attracted by the obstacle‚ drawn towards it. I’ll never be able to make any sense of it.’
Of course he won’t. But the lads who all knew Gantot‚ and didn’t much care for him‚ don’t see this as anything but perfectly normal. The incident is still well remembered in the neighbourhood.
Rue des Maléfices
I didn’t have the nerve to tell Dr Garret during his last visit to Paris what happened in Rue Zacharie – Rue des Maléfices – during the summer of 1950. This incident so deeply affected me‚ I avoid mentioning it. And until the very last moment I felt prevented from describing it here. It makes you think that if there is a pervasive spirit‚ it’s wariness that hangs in the air. Who is apprehensive‚ who has reason to fear such evidence should be brought to the attention of mankind‚ what is feared‚ and why?
I’d like this final anecdote to have the austerity of a report.
My work on the Vieux-Pont had prompted a film producer to conceive of a short documentary devoted to ‘legendary neighbourhoods’. Among these legends‚ that of the blind man – the Man-Who-Sings – which Garret related to me in his London retreat‚ seemed to us the most poetic. I was commissioned to write a synopsis of the script. By common consent‚ we decided to call the film Rue des Maléfices. A female street- singer was to play the leading role. I’d written the lyrics for two theme songs that my brother‚ a professional musician‚ was to arrange.
So it was that one warm night conducive to fruitful ruminations‚ three companions‚ pondering on their projects and puffing on their pipes‚ walked down that street in the footsteps of the medieval couple. They were the journalist Raphael Cuttoli‚ my brother and I. Luckily – it was two o’clock in the morning – there was one small restaurant still open: the Athènes‚ run by Denis the Evzone. There was only one customer there‚ eating rice: Serge B‚ a big Gypsy fellow‚ whom I vaguely knew from having met him at the Friday poetry meetings of the Islanders on the Ile St-Louis.
‘I didn’t know you lived round here.’
‘Yes‚ nearby‚ at number 16. A garret. But it’s a hassle. I have to keep the light on all night. So I’m running a night-light off the downstairs neighbour’s meter‚ without him knowing.’
‘Why do you need the light on?’
‘You mean you don’t know? It’s the Blind Man’s room.’
I was stunned. Cuttoli and my brother‚ to whom I’d related the story maybe a quarter of an hour earlier‚ were thunderstruck.
‘What blind man? Tell me‚ quickly‚ tell me.’
‘Some cock-and-bull story. An old‚ very old tradition is attached to this garret – this attic rather. No subsequent tenant has managed to stay more than a few weeks. It seems that the ghost of an unkempt blind man who walks with a limp appears to them in their sleep. And without waking them‚ the blind man passes over their eyes a long broad hand that’s luminous‚ translucid and icy-cold.
‘These people wake up full of anguish. They have some recollection of a horrible nightmare‚ and they have the sensation that the blind man has drawn the light out of them: they see less clearly‚ their eyes blink and can’t take the sun. In the end it gets too much for them. They leave. The owner‚ an elderly woman‚ fed up with all of this‚ didn’t want to let the room any more‚ at any price. I had to beg her. But although I’ve never encountered any ghost‚ these things unnerve me. So I leave the light on all night‚ as an additional precaution. And so far I’ve slept soundly.’
I subsequently had the opportunity to check out what this fellow had said: it was true. My old acquaintances from the Maube – Georgette‚ Old Marteau‚ Jean the mattress-maker‚ and many others – have all‚ everyone one of them in turn‚ been through that experience with the old man. You really have to worm it out of them. They talk of it solely with dread. All of them complain of defective eyesight which they attribute to their stay in ‘the Attic’. Most of them wear dark glasses.
‘I must visit your room.’
‘All right. Come tomorrow during the day.’
‘No. Right now. It’s urgent. It’s important. It’s essential.’
I buy a litre of Samos wine. And now all four of us are climbing the stairs. Halfway up‚ Serge says to me‚ ‘I share the room with a friend. An actor. He may be in. Otherwise‚ he’ll be back any minute.’
To enter ‘the Attic’‚ you have to duck‚ follow a long corridor – like a kind of trench – and climb another few dangerously worn steps. Here we are at last: a rather squalid mess‚ not at all amusing despite the inscription painted on the peeling plaster: You’re not at home here‚ keep these premises in a shambolic state. We made ourselves comfortable as best we could on some rickety chairs‚ and filled some sticky glasses.
‘And now‚’ says Serge‚ ‘tell me a little bit about why you have such a keen interest in this pad?’
I was already steeped in ‘my’ film‚ and without immediately tackling the legend of the man who was going to die‚ I paint a picture of St Séverin in the thirteenth century‚ with its hordes of beggars: Malingreux‚ Sabouleux‚ and Rifodés. The door creaks. In comes number two. A young guy. Tall‚ untidy‚ check shirt‚ with a thick head of hair. A fine handsome head‚ but a little drunk. Introductions are quickly made.
‘My mate Thierry‚’ says Serge. Right.
Thierry sits down beside me. I tell the story of the man overcome with weakness‚ the woman who becomes identified with the night‚ the tree on the riverbank‚ the rising darkness.
Serge was standing behind his friend. But Cuttoli‚ my brother and I observed with anxiety Thierry’s eyes‚ his trembling hands‚ his pale face: he was going out of his mind.
All stories come to an end. I couldn’t drag it out for ever. When I concluded with the word ‘blind’‚ it was met with a howl.
Thierry went beserk. No longer able to control himself‚ and his strength increased tenfold by a desperate surge of long- contained fury‚ he leapt on us. Despite our efforts‚ he managed to smack Cuttoli’s face‚ and in the scuffle Cuttoli lost a shoe. It was only after having torn out the electric wires that we succeeded in reaching the staircase‚ then the street‚ leaving behind our briefcases crammed with documents‚ scores and manuscripts – the fruit of weeks of work.
We needed to get it back‚ which meant a lot of hassle‚ involving the police … So the three of us‚ my brother‚ myself and a bloodied Cuttoli‚ end up at the Panthéon police station‚ where no one could make any sense of the fact that a guy could suddenly go crazy at the relating of a legend.
For a long time afterwards Thierry was not at all well. He too complained of problems with his eyesight. And his mental health.
I’d recounted this distressing incident to my friend D‚ an official in the city administration. The next day he came to see me‚ thoroughly rattled‚ and asked me point-blank‚ ‘Who was Provost of Paris in 1268‚ which is when that legend dates from?’
‘Easy.’ I consult my Lazare. ‘Augier‚ Jehan Augier.’
‘Right. And what was he doing in 1268?’
‘Well‚ we just settled that: he was Provost of Paris.’
‘Maybe so. But he was still in the East‚ returning from a crusade carried out by order of the king St Louis‚ at the request of the Infidels themsel
ves. Who for once wanted to join forces with the Christians‚ as far back as 1240‚ in order to drive out of their lands the hordes of Genghis Khan. Augier had set sail‚ and was heading towards the coast of Africa.’
‘So?’
‘Back in Paris‚ he’d delegated his authority to various individuals: in particular to one of the churchwardens of St Séverin‚ whose name was Thierry de Sauldre. A Flemish nobleman. Thierry de Sauldre fell under a spell – at least it was the activities of a sorcerer that were blamed for the ailment he was stricken with‚ which gradually deprived him of his eyesight. In 1269 he issued a decree prohibiting access to Rue des Maléfices to “all who are blind‚ whatever the origin of their blindness.” We can trace the fortunes of his family since then. In the eighteenth century the De Sauldres emigrated and became colonists of Guadeloupe. The last descendants returned from there just recently. And Guadeloupe‚ by the way‚ is where he was born‚ your aggressor the other night‚ the raving lunatic.’
‘Is that so? As a matter of fact‚ he’s also called Thierry.’
‘And do you know his full name?’
‘No.’
‘Thierry de Sauldre!’
Thierry de Sauldre exists. I’ve slightly altered his name. He’s a talented young man from a very respectable family‚ and I certainly wouldn’t wish to cause him any harm.
So I can’t disclose here the unbelievable ransom that in order to preserve his light Thierry has to pay to Darkness. Yes‚ Darkness. Or let’s say‚ to the colour black.
Having observed or instigated these incidents‚ in any case having been personally involved in them‚ constitutes the most dreadful ordeal‚ and affords the most marvellous‚ most unhoped-for satisfaction.
My happiness has not followed the same paths as the Gypsy’s.
But like his‚ it knows no bounds.
Translator’s Notes
Chapter I
* the site of the old morgue
From 1804 located on Quai du Marché-Neuf‚ it moved in 1864 to a new building on Quai de l’Archevêché‚ behind Notre-Dame. The Morgue became a veritable tourist attraction in the 19th century‚ even included in the Thomas Cook tour of the city‚ offering the spectacle of cadavers of unknown persons laid out on slabs that they might be identified and claimed for burial. It figures large in Emile Zola’s Thérèse Raquin‚ in which the murderer is daily drawn to the place to see if his victim has been discovered. It was eventually closed to the public in 1907.
* La Tournelle
The Quai de la Tournelle runs between the Pont de l’Archevêché and the Pont de la Tournelle that connect the Left Bank to the Ile de la Cité and the Ile St-Louis. It takes its name from a tower in the City walls built by Philip Augustus at the beginning of the 13th century‚ from which a chain running across to the Tour Loriot on the right bank could block the river passage for the protection of the City. The Tournelle tower was demolished in 1787.
* Boult-sur-Suippe
Village in the Marne‚ occupied by the Germans on 10 June 1940.
* the Ghetto‚ behind the Hotel de Ville
More a Jewish neighbourhood than a ghetto‚ this is the area round Rue des Rosiers‚ Rue des Ecouffes and Rue Ferdinand-Duval‚ formerly Rue des Juifs‚ where the Jewish community settled in the early 13th century. There had been an earlier Jewish neighbourhood round Rue de la Juiverie‚ now part of Rue de la Cité on the Ile de la Cité‚ with a Jewish synagogue that was torn down in the 12th century and replaced with a church.
* Rue des Grands-Degrés
Between Place Maubert and the Seine‚ near the Pont de l’Archevêché.
* La Maube
Place Maubert‚ one of the places of public execution in Paris’s turbulent past‚ famous for its barricades during the Fronde‚ the anti- royalist insurrection of the mid-17th century‚ and the Revolutionary period.
* Château-Rouge
(Also known as La Guillotine‚ on rue de Galande) and Père Lunette‚ so called because of the glasses worn by its proprietor that were replicated as this establishment’s shop-sign‚ were notoriously squalid entertainment-halls-cum-doss-houses. Both places are graphically described by J.K. Huysmans in his description of the St Séverin neighbourhood‚ in La Bièvre et St Séverin‚ 1898.
* Rue Lagrange
Opened in 1887‚ running north off Place Maubert towards the Pont-au-Double.
* Austerlitz
Napoleon’s great victory against the Russian and Austrian armies on 2 December 1805‚ the first anniversary of his coronation as Emperor‚ in which the French suffered losses of 1305 dead and 6940 wounded against 11000 Russian and 4000 Austrian casualties.
* Robert Desnos
Leading Surrealist poet (1900–45)‚ active in the Resistance‚ arrested by the Gestapo in February 1944‚ he died of typhus at Terezin concentration camp on 8 June 1945.
* Privat d’Anglemont
Born in Guadaloupe 1815‚ died in Paris 1859. Paris Anecdote‚ his recorded observations of Paris life‚ culled from night-time wanderings round the City‚ caused a sensation on its first publication‚ generally given as 1854. Extract quoted p.184.
* Arrests Memorables du Parlement de Paris
Case law studies that started to be published from the mid-16th century‚ establishing legal precedents and reflecting social mores.
* Nationale‚ Arsenal‚ Ste-Geneviève‚ Archives
Bibliothèque Nationale: could be said to date back to the 14th century and the first royal library of Charles V‚ whose inventoried collection of 917 manuscripts was housed in what came to be called the Library Tower of the Louvre‚ which could be consulted by scholars‚ but as this collection was dispersed on his death the real founder of what came to be the National Library was Louis XI who ruled 1461–83. Legislation requiring a copy of all books published for sale in France to be deposited in the Royal Library was passed in 1537. The royal collections were transferred in the early 18th century to Rue de Richelieu and renamed the National Library after the Revolution. Constant acquisitions and the need for more space led to the decision taken in 1988 by President François Mitterand to build new library premises. Designed by Dominique Perrault‚ this controversial edifice‚ comprising four towers‚ is located on the Left Bank between Pont de Bercy and Pont de Tolbiac.
Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal: rebuilt several times over the centuries‚ destined for demolition by Louis XVI‚ a part of the old Arsenal‚ on Rue Sully between the river and Place de la Bastille‚ now houses a library of books and manuscripts relating to the history of Paris.
Bibliotheque Ste-Geneviève: 8 Place du Panthéon.
Archives Nationales: Hôtel Soubise‚ 60 Rue des Francs-Bourgeois.
* Charles the Bold
Charles the Bold‚ who succeeded to the Duchy of Burgundy in 1467‚ led an alliance of nobles‚ known as the League of the Public Good‚ including the Duke of Britanny and the King’s brother Charles‚ Duke of Berry‚ in a feudal revolt against royal authority. The humiliation of Louis XI was achieved by the Peace of Peronne in 1468‚ but the king survived long enough to see the ambitions of the Duke of Burgundy‚ who died on the battlefield in 1477‚ completely thwarted. The Duchy of Maine was united with the Crown in 1328 when Philippe of Valois became Philippe VI of France‚ the title having been assumed by then by the Counts of Valois.
Chapter II
* La Montagne
Mont Ste-Geneviève. The hill on the Left Bank‚ rising from Place Maubert to Rue Mouffetard‚ that under the Romans was called the Hill of Lutetius.
* Vieux-Chêne
69 Rue Mouffetard.
* Africa Disciplinary Battalions
The so-called Bat’ d’Af’ were special units for recruits with a previous criminal record.
* La Mouffe
Rue Mouffetard‚ which runs through the middle of the 5th arrondissement‚ lying between Place Maubert and Les Gobelins.
Chapter III
* ‘quickening peg’
Quo
tation from Rabelais’ Gargantua and Pantagruel‚ Author’s Prologue to Book Three: ‘on nom … des quatre fesses qui vous engendrerent‚ et de la vivificque cheville qui pour lors les coupploit’ [in the name of … the four buttocks that engendered you and the quickening peg that served to join them].
* Xavier Privas
Born Antoine Paul Taravel in Lyon 1863. Poet and celebrated singer who made his debut in Paris cabarets around 1890. Rue Zacharie is now known by the name of Rue Xavier-Privas.
* Petit-Châtelet
Originally a defensive structure dating back to Roman times that stood at the end of the Petit-Pont on the site of today’s Place du Petit-Pont‚ it was rebuilt several times‚ later serving as a tollgate‚ and then from the 14th century as a prison until it was demolished in 1782.
* St Louis
Ruled France as Louis IX 1226–1270. He led the Seventh Crusade to recover Jerusalem in 1248‚ and died in Tunis at the start of the Eighth Crusade. After his death and canonization in 1297‚ a record of his saintly life was written by his devoted subject and crusading companion Jean de Joinville.
* Sorbonne and Irish College
In the mid-13th century Louis IX’s chaplain Robert de Sorbon (the name of his native village in Picardy) founded a small theological college for poor students‚ at the time just one of the many colleges‚ most of them attached to the great abbeys and churches of the City‚ that came into being from the 9th century on and attracted students from all over France and Europe‚ so great was the renown of their teachers. (The most celebrated of whom was Peter Abelard (1079–1142)‚ who taught first at the Cathedral school and then at the school of St Geneviève). It eventually established itself as the great court of appeal on matters theological‚ and became synonomous with the university of Paris. By the 17th century there were 65 colleges in Paris. The various schools were incorporated into a single body designated the université in 1212‚ with statutes regulating who was entitled to teach. Students enjoyed considerable privileges and freedoms that led to violent clashes with the ecclesiastical authorities and with the townspeople.
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