I have long loved the covered passages of Paris, those boutique-lined, glass-roofed vestiges of another era of shopping. Years ago, I saw a photo exhibit about them at Les Antiquaires du Louvre (now such a sad, abandoned shell) and bought the accompanying book. I slipped it on my bookshelf, and there it sat for a decade. I’ve been reading all that back stock before allowing myself new books and finally turned to this one. I’m kind of sorry that I did.
I knew that the Palais Royale, opposite the Louvre, had been a precursor to the covered passages, and I also knew that it had been a “pleasure garden” at night, but I hadn’t known much about the women who worked there and in the passages around it. The book revealed that the “romance” of these shopping arcades often had a lot to do with taking advantage of poor women.
There was a whole hierarchy of prostitutes. Les castors, (beavers) were at the pinnacle of this sorry group. They were further subdivided into demi-castors, castors, and castors-fini. Their relative status decided whether they had to work the garden and alleys, the arched galleries, or the terrace of a café in the Palais Royale. Balzac wrote about the whole sorry business in Illusions perdues, but took the point of view that the prostitutes were the hunters of hapless male prey. Five or six hundred women worked the Palais Royale each night in the mid-1800s.
Less “fortunate” women worked in the covered passages nearby. They were known as hirondelles (swallows) or rossignols (nightingales). Then there were the grisettes (warblers) and lorettes, shop-girls, who augmented their meager salaries by becoming prostitutes after hours. Often, those who owned the shops made the arrangements with this other sort of client, for a cut of the fee. There was the account of the arrest record of a widow who had met clients in the public toilets of one of the passages for forty years. I felt ill reading that.
And if that isn’t sad enough, then there were the wives and daughters of factory workers who, after their own day in the factory, were expected to work “l’heure du travail supplémentaire,” or overtime, as prostitutes in one of the passages. Karl Marx wrote all about this when he lived in France from 1843-45.
I felt so sad for all of those women who had no options, and so grateful to live in a time when I have an education and a very different kind of job. I’ll certainly look at the covered passages through different eyes from now on.
I love a good mystery and I’m always looking for good resources to keep my French up to snuff, so I happily added 
It’s a classic Agatha Christie-type scenario, but I jumped out of my skin half-a-dozen times, so it certainly kept me guessing. My least favorite episode was the final one, however, as I found the wrap-up to be a bit weak. Still, I’ve recommended it my students, using the child singing the creepy opening song to lure them in, just as each victim was lured to his or her demise.
I’ve wanted to check out Martha’s Vineyard since we moved to Massachusetts five years ago, but it just didn’t happen. During the school year, I often have to work on Saturdays and in the summer, I’m in France. In addition, I had no idea of the best way to get there, where to stay, or what we would do once we were there. Finally, everything aligned over Columbus Day weekend. We had such a lovely time, that I wanted to share my discoveries with you in case you, too, have been planning a visit.
Comment y aller? (How to get there?)
Où rester? (Where to stay?)
Que faire? (What to do?)
Où manger? (Where to eat?)
For years, I had a subscription to an app that allowed me acces to hundreds of magazines. I had about half a dozen favorites that I could download and read offline, which was great for car trips. Then the app went the way of rotary phones. I really missed it and didn’t think much of the alternative that Big Brother suggested. So, I started looking for alternatives. 
The bi-monthly magazine comes in both print and online versions. The print version costs US$59.99, which is pretty steep for a magazine, but it also comes with online access, plus two additional digital subscriptions to give to others. That could be a lovely way to share France with like-minded friends or family members. I went for the digital only subscription at US$36.99. 
I just finished an excellent book, 
If you like police thrillers, you should check out 
I enjoy the interior scenes of French painter Pierre Bonnard. He was born on October 3, 1867 in Fontenay-aux-Roses, a suburb of Paris.
Bonnard settled in Paris in 1888, where he studied at the Académie Julien and the École des Beaux-Arts. With Maurice Denis and Édouard Vuillard (with whom he shared a studio), he was influenced by Paul Gauguin’s expressive use of color and formed the Nabis. The name comes from the Hebrew word for “prophet.” I saw some of his paintings this summer at the musée du Sénat’s lovely exhibit about the movement.
While other artists at the end of the 19th century were tending towards abstraction, Bonnard was influenced by Japanese prints and concentrated on landscapes and interiors which strove to create subtle effects in light and color at the expense of perspective. At the turn of the century he was moved by the intensity and passion in the paintings of Van Gogh and this led him to become a founding member of the Salon d’Automne in 1903. Thereafter he was influenced by Les Fauves (literally “the wild beasts”), whose strident colors and distorted images he tamed and harnessed to his own style. Bonnard died in southwestern France on January 23, 1947.
