The Only Street in Paris

"Some people look at the Rue de Martyrs and see a street.  I see stories. For me, it is the last real street in Paris, a half-mile celebration of the city in all its diversity - its rituals and routines, its permanence and transience, its quirky old family-owned shops and pretty young boutiques. This street represents what is left of the intimate, human side of Paris."

So says American journalist Elaine Sciolino in The Only Street in Paris: Life on the Rue Des Martyrs, a delightfully quirky account of the street's history and the people who live and work there. It sounds an odd premise for a book, but it offers a fascinating glimpse into French life and I loved everything about it. Sciolino is a skilled writer who hooks you in and keeps you turning page after page as she reveals the stories of the street. It climbs uphill, from the Pigalle to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur, passing through the 9th and 18th arrondissements, and on the whole it seems to have escaped Haussemann's  renovation of the city during the 19th century, as well as more modern developments and alterations. The buildings, varying in style and age, have retained their individuality, says Sciolino. And she adds: "It is the tenacity of the small, traditional merchants and artisans that keeps the character of the street intact"

Rue des Martyrs (From Wikipdia)

The street is packed with some 200 shops, restaurants, cafes and businesses, ranging from traditional butchers, bakers, fishmongers, dress shops and second-hand stores, to a transvestite cabaret and a repairer of 18th century mercury barometers who also gilds wooden picture frames and mirror surrounds, using real gold leaf. Sciolino discovered the area when her work took her to Paris in 2002. She intended to remain for just three years, but fell in love with the city in general, and the Rue des Martyrs in particular. In 2010 she was overjoyed when an apartment above a firework shop just off the rue des Martyrs fell empty. The building boasted an intricate iron entrance gateway, a magnificent old door,  a rare, decorative oval spiral staircase, and two cobbled courtyards - one with a 19th century fountain. Who wouldn't want to live in such a fabulous place!

"Immediately, in obedience to my journalistic instincts, I wanted to know everything about my new home, and why the rue des Martyrs has retained the feel of a small village," she writes. "The street jealously guards its secrets: it has no landmarks, no important architecture, no public gardens, nor any stone plaques on the sides of buildings telling you who was born, lived, worked, or died here. But I didn't have to go into reporter mode to seek out the experts who could help. They found me." 

Traders told her about themselves and their families; older residents recalled their childhood,  and local historians shared their knowledge. One even maintained that Jules Verne, who had links to the area, had lived in the building which housed Sciolino's home but, sadly, she found no evidence to prove this. Nor did she find proof that the road follows the route thought to have been taken by St Denis (patron saint of Paris) who, having been beheaded, carried his head to the spot where he wanted to be buried! But the Crypte du Martyrium de Saint-Denis, just a few yards round the corner in Rue Yvonne le Tacand is - allegedly - the site where the saint and his two companions met their deaths.  

Toulouse-Lautrec 

Other tales from the past are much more credible. In the 20th century the young Edith Piaf sang in the street and collected coins thrown from windows. Further back in time, towards the end of the 18th century, Thomas Jefferson - who went on to to become President of the United States - was the American Minister to Paris and visited a friend in the Rue des Martyrs. In the following century the poet Baudelaire and the artist Edgar Degas were regular patrons at Brasserie des Martyrs (now a concert venue) and Degas also enjoyed the Cirque Medrano which stood on the corner of Rue Des Martyrs and the Boulevard de Rochechouart. Degas, Jean Renoir and Toulouse Lautrec were just a few of the artists who drew and painted the circus performers. Musician Georges Bizet (of Carmen fame) was baptised at the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, at the bottom of the street, as were artists Claude Monet and Paul Gaugin. Sciolino also mentions that prostitutes in the area were known as lorettes!

The present residents are equally interesting. There is Ezzidine, a greengrocer, who shows Sciolino how to crack and peel fresh almonds by 'slamming' them against a wooden pillar, and dreams of kissing film star Sharon Stone. Then there is Yves the cheesemonger, who left home aged 13 and worked as a field hand, sleeping in a barn with the cows before improving his lot in life. And what about Guy Lellouche, the antique dealer who is more interested in appreciating lovely objects than making money, or flamboyant Michou, who is in his eighties, dresses in shades of blue, and has been running the transvestite cabaret since he created it 60 years ago. They care about their customers, and are all passionate about their work, and keen to pass on their expertise to others, or to find that special item which will make someone;s day. They are a community who support each other, and they are very diverse: Sciolino meets people from all over the world, of all religious faiths, but they are all proud to consider themselves French. 

People join together to remember the 19 Jewish girls and one teacher at the local school who were killed during the Nazi occupation, and they mourn those killed and injured in modern terrorist attacks, showing their solidarity with the satirical paper Charlie Hebdo. It makes you wonder, if one little community can live together in peace and harmony, then why can't others?

It's not just the stories that captivate Sciolina. She also captures the everyday sights, sounds and smells of France - the water flushing the streets clean, shop shutters opening, church bells ringing the hours, the smell of coffee and fresh baked breads and pastries, and the colourful displays of fruits and vegetables which look so much nicer (and taste so much better) than in England.

For a few years between the death of my father and my mother falling ill with dementia, Mum and I enjoyed a trip to Paris each May, to celebrate my birthday, and remember Dad whose birthday was also in May. We sat at pavement cafes watching the world go by, explored beautiful little 'secret' gardens as we roamed down alley ways, wandered around street markets, and got the most delicious food from wonderful shops for picnic lunches. We bought brown paper bags full of fruit (cherries were our favourites) and ate them as we walked along the streets, peering through wrought iron gates into hidden courtyards, making up stories of the people who might have lived there in the past. This book reminded me of those holidays. It may be about one street, but it encapsulates Paris as I remember it. 

* I should have said this is published by WW Norton and Company, that it has lots of photos, which I can't reproduce because I have the Kindle edition, and I feel I really haven't done full justice to the book! I've posted it for Paris in July 2023, which used to be hosted by Tamara at Thyme for Tea, but is now being organised by Emma, who was born in France, but now lives in America. You'll find the main post about the event, together with other participants, at her Words and Peace website.