   
La Ville promise, by Daniel Roche and his collaborators
...Orest's other
reviews
Gilles Chabaud, Jean-François Dubost,
Sabine Juratic, Vincent Milliot
and Jean-Michel Roy have all researched very effectively and courageously
under Daniel Roche's supervision, to produce La Ville promise: mobilité
et accueil à Paris (fin XII-début XIXe siècle)
(Paris: 2000). Yes, courageous: because the sources about inns, hotels
and visitors to the capital are very disparate, and sometimes not all that
revealing about the subject. What follows is not a true review: I simply
lack the energy and discipline to be fair to the complexity and richness
of the material presented here, and especially the statistics, which I always
find difficult to summarize.
The cover has a reproduction of a picture "after" Courvoisier showing the
Porte d'Enfer circa 1820, making one think of Berlin at about the same time
— a virtually non-monumental view. The first chapter, by Milliot gives
an overview of police surveillance, concentrating on the creation of registers
kept by hotel- and inn-keepers listing those who spend the night. There are
frequent references to Guillante's very utopian work proposing identity cards
for all residents, etc., of Paris, which the authorities could consult by
turning the large revolving wheels in which these cards would be filed. Petty
crime abounded, of course, and this is counted and located by quarter, thanks
to registers: "la surveillance des garnis apparaît comme l'un des
aspects de la répression de la mendicité et de la lutte contre
le vagabondage" (p. 75).
What about the guide books about the capital? Gilles Chabaud explores them
from their beginnings in the 16th century, and finds the utilitarian aim
becoming constantly stronger, revealing the orientation toward the market
by both writers and printers. Blegny's (alias "du Pradel") is a fine early
example. The imagined Paris of the guides, the emphasis on hoi-polloi society
and royalist paternalism are all brilliantly elucidated to make clear how
and why Paris became a center of luxury- goods design and manufacture.
Gilles Chabaud, Vincent Milliot and Jean-Michel Roy worked together on the
geography of the various places that provided lodging for a fee. There were
about 500 such places in 1658, 564 in 1670 and about 1000 in 1673. Merchants
and tourists were the two major groups of lodgers in this period, and the
former found more places to stay around the Place Maubert than in any other
quarter, while the latter stayed near Saint-Germain-des-Prés. As late
as 1825, one could rent either a room with several strangers, or a private
room (p. 167), with the difference affecting the price. The authors return
to the sense (or lack of it) of welcome in guide books and recognize that
their principal function continued to be the affirmation of a cultural identity
at once urban and national (p. 171). The notion of a marché d'accueil
may be evident in a sense of utility that is present in the guides, but
there was still a long way to go.
Sabine Juratic tackles the question of displacement to the capital. March
and April were most often picked for setting off for Paris, with a declining
curve into August, followed by a rise in October-November and a steep falling-off
in December (p. 183). People generally came alone, not as couples or families,
with many more males arriving than females. Males were usually older —
41% being at least 30 and as many as 16% over 50. The greatest number of
women coming to Paris were between 28 and 32 years old. Northern France
constituted the pays d'origine for most of the people staying in
garnies. There are interesting statistics about occupations and choices
of location in the city: proximity to work, wholesalers, colleges counted
in choice of location — but less so, of course, for the English tourist
who tended to settle down in the Saint-Germain faubourg.
Jean-François Dubost, well-known for his pioneering work on Italians
in France, La France italienne, XVIe-XVIIe
siècles (Paris, 1997) — see my recent review in Histoire
et Archives — returns here to sources he knows so well, but for
a later period: lettres de naturalité and, above all, the
"Contrôle des étrangers" in the Archives des Affaires
étrangères. Really quite paranoid about spies during the War
of Spanish Succession, the police settled into ossifying routines occasionally
upset by a newly-appointed minister. French frontiers in the 18th century
were quite permeable. Foreigners could come and go pretty much as they pleased.
Special reports were drawn up about suspected spies. There are some statistics
about the number coming in annually for the 1770s and 1780s, but they are
difficult to interpret. More foreigners arrive in the "belle saison"
than in mid-winter. The English are almost twice s numerous as the Germans,
followed by somewhat fewer from Switzerland or the Hapsburg Low Countries.
The few Jews who came to Paris are largely from Germany. Far fewer women
than men visit the capital, and only the Anglaises come unaccompanied.
Among foreign artisans, makers of luxury goods are clearly in the majority.
The English come, stay in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, visit libraries and
curiosity cabinets and, according to one police report, send most of their
time "à table, au jeu, ou avec les femmes." The police spy
on the English more than on any other national group, especially in wartime.
The police's perceptions of wealth and social rank are very interesting.
Indeed, a whole study of the question could be interesting. The gentry doesn't
pose a problem of definition: they are gentilshommes ! There are minor
shifts in foreigners' choices of quarter, but in general continuities prevailed.
German merchants sought rooms in the mercantile quarters, the English in
the bon ton of the Faubourgs Saint-Germain and Saint-Honoré. The Rive
Droite gained social and cultural power late in the century, for foreigners
often wanted to reside near theaters and operas and, of course, near the
salons de peinture. The rues Jacob, Richelieu, Seine and Dauphine had numerous
prestigious hotels. The Americans, while socially somewhat heterogeneous,
preferred the quartiers to the west; and the British, the "noble
faubourg," as my late friend called the VIIe arrondissement,
particularly the rue Jacob. The attractiveness of a hotel whose name incorporates
one's "national" identity is confirmed. The link between the presence of
foreigners and the image of grandeur, monumentality and luxury extended far
beyond the rich to include the skilled artisans and, perhaps, the cendrillons
who were given board and an attic room, thanks to the luxury market that
was already driving the Parisian economy.
The final two chapters (and conclusion) are by the master himself. Daniel
Roche (p. 295) refers to the "économie de l'accueil" that Paris
has. Indeed, all through the book there is a creative ambiguity about what
"welcome" means. The "Promised City" evokes a fundamentally ironic resonance
with the "Promised Land." The people who ran hotels or rented rooms sought
clients, as did inns and places where cooked food could be consumed. There
was a lot of administrative "encadrement" in the Ancien Régime,
and the registers of room-renters is an example; but in and through it all,
both foreigners' entrance into the capital and their renting of sleeping
and eating spaces remained generally out of range for the corporatism one
finds so strong virtually everywhere else. Thomas Brennan's work on the cabaret
explores the clarification (partial) between public and private space; the
hotel room and the garnie were private spaces often kept by "family
enterprises." Just think of the ambiguity of the word "guest"
(hôte) in this context.
Roche's exploration of the enseignes is one of the finest pieces of analytical
historical prose written since the preceding general of Annaliste historians
dropped their pens. The "sans qu'on y pense" reading of signs, with
their topographical, religious, bestiary, etc., names brings the reader to
the edge of significance — to explore the significance of non-significance.
Superb.
The study of inventories of people with rooms to let confirms the initial
notion of an economy of welcome. These people are merchants renting spaces
and services. The specific case studies here are very revealing of the
continuities and adaptabilities of the small, family-run lodgings. The statistics
are very revealing (p. 317). Their study, through bankruptcy records, suggests
slow economic growth for these families in the 18th century, and faster growth
in the first half of the 19th. The presence of servants is an interesting
measure for those renting rooms (beds !) : 50-60% have no servants. Workers
occupied these cheap rooms in many instances, doing seasonal work before
returning to the Limousin or elsewhere. Students lodgings also had a specific
clientele.
The study of the material used by room-letters — candles, sheets, firewood,
laundry and food — is extremely interesting. Seasonal costs are evident;
most lodging-keepers did not lay in large stocks of these necessities, but
bought as needed. The increasing use of stoves is noted. The number of floors
slowly increased until the five-story establishment became quite prevalent
in the late 18th century. Most were still only one "house" in space, with
only about 50 square meters of surface per floor. The year 1789 is, of course,
just a date, a chronological stopping point; but sometimes it seems to mark
a dramatic shift. For example, p. 334: "Avant 1789, 10% des hôtels
n'ont pas de cour, mais 88% n'ont pas de jardin.... Après la
Révolution ... 80% possèdent des cours, les jardins ont
disparu...." Rendering statistical information into prose can lead anyone
into such a contradiction. It would seem that a change of 10% occurred, but
where did the gardens go? Not really into stables, another figure given.
The dining rooms were generally on the ground floor; chairs replace benches,
the latter disappearing in the 19th century. Roche notes that Arthur Young
saw the French as seeking "une distanciation polie"; but clearly it
was the range of income and rank that intersected with the range of spaces
available for sleeping, etc. And the French also kept to their rooms, according
to Young. The décor became sujets d'évasion:
city-views, ships and seas, landscapes and genre scenes, with decorations
in hotels becoming lay or profane more quickly than in private residences.
Bathing facilities remained quite rare down into the 19th century (and beyond!)
which helps explain the persistence of bathing establishments along the Seine.
Information on American roomers is very precise: 80% are between the ages
of 31 and 40, and almost all of them are male. Of the 860 known Americans,
48% are in commerce and industry, 21% in the navy and navigation, and the
rest are a mixture. Most come from east-coast cities. They stayed in the
mid-priced establishments in the I, II and III arrondissements.
The conclusion begins with Rousseau's staying in a hotel reputed to have
had Bordes, Mobly, and Condillac as guests; but alas, none of them are present
during his stay, nor are any of the other leading lights he seemed to want
to frequent. Diderot is quite different, as he appears through Jacques
le Fataliste. The immense variety, and the fact that things are not always
what they seem, adds an element of irony and adventure to a stay in the capital.
The "Promised City" captures this same irony — a profane caricature
of the "city on the hill."
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