Fs and Us and Smileyfaces
Richard Cobb
Pariswalks: Five intimate walking tours of the most historic and enchanting quartlers of Left and Right Banks Alison and Sonia Landes (New Republic Books, Washington $5.95) 'Paris as a whole is extremely safe.' The metros . . are, for the most part, safe to use anywhere, anytime.' 'Alison has been known to walk alone in the small hours unharmed and unafraid.' A note to women who are followed and bothered. You are Only being teased, and you are not in any danger . . . the best technique is to behave as coldly and silently as possible . . . The clochards are harmless and you need not fear them.' The two authors — mother and daughter — oi Pariswalks (a new word to me; and their book is meant as an encouragement to the wider and equally emergent activity of citywalking) are out to reassure, though they do add the not quite so reassuring instruction: 'In a medical emergency call the American Hospital of Paris . . . 637 72-00 . . If you intend to remain in Paris for a long time, you may wish to get an Identification card from the hospital and early it with you in case of accident.' Paris may not be dangerous; Paris hospitals apparently are. The natives, who make occasional appearances as cute figurants, to add to local colour, or to be assigned a comic role in the manner of Elliot Paul (M Simon, the owner of the laundry, is a would-be opera star who will not only sing for you, but Probably will offer you a piece of candy as well') are divided into two principal categories, the 'friendlies' and the 'unfriendlies% the former winning by a fairly narrow margin, low couches and benches around lOW tables attract a young crowd who all seem to know each other and are very friendly'; 'Angela is very friendly and Speaks all languages': 'Anita Civelli, a friendly lady with real Orphan Annie curls.; M Michel, whose father ran the gallery before him, is both informative and friendly'; 'The place is young, friendly, and crowded'. The shop is friendly and fascinating': He is usually upstairs . . . [but] he will come down to you. He is very friendly and knows the Place desVosges like no-one else'; 'This is an informal, very friendly, moderately priced restaurant'. We also learn of a boutique that it is, as the French say, syrnpathique'. On the whole, the balance of friendliness would tip towards the collective and the young, rather like the State-sponsored friendships of the Communist bloc. But some individuals too are. . . just friendly.
Then, some are not. Of a bouquiniste, 'we must warn you that he is not always pleasant' (American girl, holding Pariswalks in correct position, open at p.77: 'Is it true that you are not always pleasant?') Apparently, in response to the wide double American smile (they are smiling on the back cover) this sometimes unpleasant man did not reciprocate. Still, smiles should be part of the essential equipment, along with stout shoes and toilet paper, of the Pariswalker: 'If the concierge finds you and scolds you, just smile and say you don't understand'. However, it is not only flint yconcierges who do not always readily succumb to Smileyface. 'In typical French fashion, chic women are treated graciously, young girls rudely' (this, presumably, for the intrepid Alison, the Parisnightwalker). 'We are sorry to report that this is the only restaurant that refused to give us a recipe': a bad mark. 'Warning— we found these cafés rude and expensive', an unexpectedly acute observation of a common Parisian combination.
The natives are more or less disposed of in these two teams, Fs and Us, though of Allard, in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts, we are told: 'Four cooks and Mme Allard work in plain view of all who enter; they have a good time together, which is very nice. Of course, to get into the Fs, it is essential to speak English, a rule that some of the Us failed to observe. Americans expect to be noticed. There is no place for the majority of the natives who do not even look up (peoplewatch), who . look through you, or who go on their way apparently unaware of the gay, colourful, exotic, trinketty, chattering,smiling Pariswalkers, down from their cityramas, and actually on their own level, walking, barefoot (in sympathy with the Third World) or, if they follow the advice of Alison and Sonia, in stout shoes, sur le pave de Paris: a sort of miracle of acrobatics, like that, breathlessly reported, in 1942, of Marshal Petain: 'Quand le Marechal marche, il prend possession du trottoir, mettant un pied devant l'autre.' (Amazing) The authors (authorpersons) are as wide-eyed and earnest, as they are full of gush and wonderment. 'At No 14 is the Tea Caddy . . People gather in this paneled room to savor and relax.' No danger of encountering (meeting with) any of the natives, either F or U, here. Here are some painters at work on restoration of old pictures: 'We were excited and inspired by these people and wished we could do what they knew how to do'. `Go into this shop to watch the young man who is weaving a tapestry on a loom exactly as it was done hundreds of years ago at the Aubusson factory' (Oooh!) 'Inside the pleasant courtyard of No 48, there is, on the left, a furniture-restorer (you can watch the work through the open windows) — and, by now, the poor man will be closely observed by intent armies of American females each holding Pariswalks in one hand ('Read the interior first, and then enter the restaurant, book in hand, during the quiet periods between the meals' — a sure recipe for popularity), and a greasy packet of cuisine a emporter in the other to be devoured somewhere on the ground (sitting on the ground, a further exercise in sympathy for the Third World, though difficult in flinty Paris — 'the graSs is almost always forbidden, interdit').
`No 77 is a french-fry place from which you can carry off your lunch and eat it in the Square Viviani."We felt as if we had returned to the Middle Ages and were watching a mummers' play in front of some old cathedral', though, in this case, the three young people who are making asses of themselves in front of Saint-Medard, an unassuming church deserving better than to have to serve as a backdrop to mummery, turn out to be Americans 'trying to earn a little money', which, predictably, they do not. The natives give them a glance, shrug, and pass on. Mercifully, the two pioneering Pariswalkers cannot read their thoughts (expressed in a single word), though they do try* `to feel French'; and there is no nicer way to achieve this than to do one's shopping at a local street market, 'Be daring', they exhort their readers. Oh they will, all , right. 'Be sure to order the fresh mango for dessert and ask to watch them cut it.'
Instruction is occasionally laced by an earnest and pained censoriousness. Much that they enthuse over the shop-signs, particularly those in pseudo-Gothic lettering (a fair warning, at least to the experienced Pariswatcher to keep well away, to avoid the coup de fusil), they are upset by 'a recent wall-decoration most Americans find astounding. The name of the building is le Negre Joyeux . . . and the painting depicts a young black servant waiting on his mistress.' And they add, primly: 'America has long since rejected and condemned the image of "the happy black servant", but up till now in Europe no objections seem to have been raised against this stereotype.' Oh dear! The French still have a lot to learn.
Each walk is preceded by a historical introduction, reasonably accurate, but sometimes bizarrely expressed. Henri Ill's mignons are described both as 'cuties' and as forming 'his court of powder puffs' (watch, it, ladies). A murderous encounter between students and clergy near the abbey of Saint Germain-des-Pres in 1278 emerges momentously as 'the Kent State affair of medieval Paris'. 'After the Revolution' , they affirm with gravity, 'Paris was very different from what it had been.'
It is hard to say what the guide will do for Franco-American relations. Paris taxidrivers are unlikely to respond favourably to the following piece of advice: 'Not every driver is honest, and tourists are easy victims. The most common trick is the long, unnecessary detour, which can be guarded against by following the route with a map so that you have some idea where you are going.' And so much persistent barging-in, albeit by smiling female bargers (This threestorey room is well worth trying to see, though you may not be able to get in ... You might tell them inside that you are "researching medical schools" '; but would not this be a UFO, after having rung the bell of the street door, to crowd into the courtyard of a private house, to take a look at a recommended staircase or to stare at a period ceiling, may indeed provoke the wrath of locataires, as well as of unsmiling concierges. The inhabitants of the rue Jacob, in particular, are in for a bad time.
On the other hand, the book may render valuable service as an Anti-Guide, sending its persistent regiments of female gapers to five areas,. Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, Huchette, Mouffetard, Saint-Germaindes-Pres, Place des Vosges, that have already succumbed to the massive intrusion of la faune. The authors enthuse on the ruined rue Saint-Severin: 'People in highly coloured costumes, very strange and unpredictable, swarm on all sides'; and there is a photograph of the once-genuine street in which a lonely Frenchman, in his late fifties and normally dressed, is depicted startled and caught in eddies of African cottons and Afghan hides, of jingling, trinketty saris and gypsy-rose-lees. Poor man! Outside the once-lovely, ruined, trendy church of Saint-Severin, they meet — hid eous, horrid jumelage! — 'a venerable theologian-sociologist' ('he hesitated, smiled, then hesitated again'). Fair warning too — were any needed — about Shakespeare & Co ('50 or more young people, most of them with long hair and strange dress, gave Shakespeare & Co as their address'). And again, 'in pleasant-enough weather musicians and singers vie for the corner of rue de la Harpe and rue de la Huchette; one does not need to be told twice.
And it is as well to be warned that at Vagenende, boulevard Saint-Germain, 'an accordionist or a violinist will entertain you at dinner' (a eliminer). We know but some will not — that the poor little provincial place de la Contrascarpe has also been ruined: 'now the takeover is almost complete and French and foreign youth dominate the night scene'. Ma Bourgogne, place des Vosges, appears quite inoffensive; it also has a good WC. Are you tempted to follow Sonia and Alison to one of the underground restaurants in converted cellars, in the rue de la Harpe: 'there's gold in them thar cellars'? I am not. They have done a good job; let Youth commune with Youth, Mummer with Mummer. Their little guide is an eliminatoire. There is still quite a lot of Paris left for sexagenarians and natives and that is still safe from the arrowed and dotted-lined itineraries assigned to the recently trained citywalkers and Peoplewatchers. Have no fear, they will not stray beyond the frontiers of a cute geographY.
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