Centuries of Paris

According to municipal statistics, there are 204 museums in Paris, so the visitor's dilemma is where to start.  Our choice of an inaugural was the Musée Carnavalet, a relatively small converted mansion that focuses entirely on the history of Paris.  For our afternoon excursion, we traveled by metro again (one change of trains, four stops - we're getting good at this) and walked past the gorgeous Place de Vosges to what looks on the outside like another venerable Paris edifice.  Entry is free, and once inside, we found a concatenation of rooms, sequenced at first haphazardly, then roughly in an order that followed the periods from the Ancien Régime of the 17th century through the great revolution of 1879 and subsequent upheavals in the nineteenth century and up to early 20th century artistry and commerce.  For myself, a museum forges links to people and places, creating connections that enrich the overall appreciation of what life was like.  In this context, what stands out about the Carnavalet was its wonderful quirkyness, juxtaposing painstakingly detailed restorations of period rooms with historical artwork, both masterful documentary panoramas and trenchant artistic diatribes expressing popular sentiments.  The devastation of the French revolution was entirely contextualized by the biting satire of the political caricatures.  A couple of quick examples:  First, Jean-Baptiste Lallemand's portrayal of the taking of the Bastille:

The painting depicts an iconic event, widely recognized, and certainly understood by historians.  The following image by the late 18th Century caricaturist Dubois depicting Louis XVI on a boat that represents France on a sea full of rocky hazards and his despised advisor Necker, grasping in envy at tableaux of former times of glory, had preceded the more factual depiction, setting the tone for the popular rage that led to the chaos:

See what I mean?  I was aware that the French were incited to riot by Robespierre, Marat, and other rhetoricians, but this and many other satirical images and period objects made a lasting impression.

 But our favorite painting in the entire museum was this one, by Jean Védère:


Les Parisennes Tirent Le Diable Par La Queue (Parisians drag the devil by the tail), an expression from the 17th and 18th century that colloquially conveys the sense that Parisians lack the means to meet their needs.





So history is really my son's province, not mine, but there were additional exhibits in the Carnavalet that I found charming, especially the vast collection of merchant signs from the era that preceded the numbering of houses on streets in Paris.  I learned that it was these signs that offered guidance to the important regional provisioners, and here's a whole hall of them:

This was one of our favorites:

Any guesses as to what kind of merchandise was sold here?*
















Enough pedantry.  We reluctantly dragged our tired feet away from the Carnavalet, pausing for a brief Beer at a Brasserie in the Place de Vosges, before heading back towards the metro station, only to be drawn by curiosity into a small shop through whose window we spied an astonishing collection of antique musical instruments, including this 1786 Erard pianoforte:

The proprietor graciously answered our questions, right up to the point when it became obvious that we weren't going to buy anything, and he disappeared into the back of the store.  We recalled Uncle Dan's advice: "Don't waste a Frenchman's time!"





A quick metro ride and a short walk later, we returned chez nous, rested, cleaned up, and went out to a yummy repast of French culinary mastery at a neighborhood restaurant called l'A.O.C. which included a delicious roasted Lapin (sorry Bugs), and capped it with a lovely pear tart.  And, having had a very full day, we called it.  Tomorrow, a walk in the park (literally!)  Bonsoir.


*It was for a Fromager, a cheese shop!