THE GREETERS' WALKS
"Know your neighbours" with Éric
I meet up with Éric, the 14th arrondissement Greeter, on rue des Thermopyles. This street, which seems to pay homage to a famous battle, one of the most famous feats of arms in ancient history, is one of the most pleasant and quiet streets in the capital.
Around the enigmatic sign "Chat en psychanalyse" (Cat in psychoanalysis), which encourages us to tiptoe so as not to disturb any post-traumatic discomfort in the feline, reigns a calm and peaceful atmosphere.
Chat en Psychanalyse
The generous wisteria stretch out their branches on either side of the street, as if to invite us to come together and stick together in this working-class neighbourhood. The gardens here are communal, and associations flourish in every square, because living well together is a leitmotif.
Nearby, Georges Brassens found refuge, fleeing the S.T.O. to live free at the end of a cul-de-sac. Not far away, a working-class castle stands, suggesting that social climbing is no mirage.
Not far away, the "workers' castle" rises up, suggesting that upward social mobility is no mirage.
At the end of the 19th century, the château, once known as the "Château du Maine", was slowly crumbling, worn down by the passage of time. We were in the midst of the Industrial Revolution, a time when hygienist and socialist ideas were emerging, giving rise to a bold project: to build a new château, but this time for workers. Each floor was subdivided into eight dwellings, an innovative arrangement at the time, where each had a rare level of comfort with its own toilet. Communal areas, such as meeting rooms, brought the residents closer together, spreading a sense of community.
However, in the twilight of the 1990s, Paris City Council took an irrevocable decision: the working-class château was to be demolished. Faced with this threat, the tenants and residents of the district engaged in a fierce battle. Banners of resistance are flying in the streets, demonstrations are ringing out with unwavering determination, and petitions are circulating, bringing together the voices of those who refuse to see this symbol of their history and identity disappear. The workers' castle embodies their heritage, the tangible testimony to those past struggles, where dreams and hopes were shaped.
And over there, Notre-Dame du Travail, with its metal architecture, reminds us all of our factory world, a welcome reminder that we all feel at home, in our usual environment, surrounded by the materials of iron and wood that our hands transform every day.
It was the day after Jane Birkin's funeral, and we both wanted to pay our last respects. As we searched, we first came across Serge Gainsbourg's grave, almost buried in flowers. A woman there tells us that this abundance of flowers was intended for Jane, and was shared here. Thirty metres away is the grave of Jane Birkin, inundated with wreaths bearing prestigious signatures. It's an ocean of flowers, a vibrant last salute from emotional admirers.
As we continue on our way, Eric is keen to show me some more graves. Carlos Fuentes had planned to be buried alongside his children, but the Mexican authorities finally decided that their greatest writer should be laid to rest in the land of his birth. As a result, the date of his birth remains engraved on his grave for all eternity. A form of immortality.
As for Charles Baudelaire, hated by his father-in-law, a major general, he now rests in the family vault. If this general could see him today, he would no doubt be offended by all the traces of lipstick kisses that now illuminate the stele.
Finally, we discover one of the most beautiful tombs, that of the Charles Pigeon family, inventors of oil lamps in 1875. In this sacred place, the memories of great artists, talented writers and visionary inventors intertwine, forming a moving symphony of lives well lived and outstanding contributions to the history of humanity.
Ah, my old neighbours," Eric might say, "a gallery of celebrities in an effervescent but discreet neighbourhood! Yves Klein, the artist of vibrant colours, Simone de Beauvoir, the philosopher of committed words, Georges Brassens, the poet of French song, Lee Miller, the photographer of captivating looks, and Alberto Giacometti, the sculptor of enigmatic forms. "Getting to know your neighbours" starts at the top of the list, a little touch of glamour in the daily life of a Parisian. But, I assure you, we also had our benevolent concierge and his mischievous cat, not forgetting the charming Monsieur Martin from the fifth floor, a lover of bon mots and pastries! It was a whole little world, a microcosm where art, culture and good humour rubbed shoulders every day. A neighbourhood like no other, a constellation of shining stars in the ordinary sky of neighbourhood life. Ah, the joys of Parisian life - even if you don't bump into stars on every street corner, you can at least have had them for neighbours!
