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Some people work silently.
Like the mannequin walking, left, right, turning, hands on her hips, turning her
head towards he camera. Location? the promenoir of the Palais Chaillot and the
Eiffel tower as background. Only thirty meters from there, African street
vendors sell their illegal jewels in painted wood from on the ground. Great
luxury and rubbish. Paris toils and moils.
Is it because the street
became too noisy that you don't hear the hawkers any more?
The fruit seller dressed in
his huge orange near the Halles stays mute. It's hot anyway and all potential
customers come automatically to him. Why should he shout?
The grocer in the rue
Mouffetard stays speechless between his vegetables and yellow melons. His fruits
are so shiny he doesn't need to praise them loudly.
The book-seller on the quai de
la Tournelle has not a word to say, because he is very busy reading France-Soir
and is deaf for the street traffic. Everybody makes his own happiness. The
complete works of Celine or the Marquis de Sade, lying behind him in his stall,
have seen may hands touching and leafing the pages and Beaumarchais, Montesquieu
and Balzac have a fan public since a long time. Imagine the bookseller praising
his goods with" Read the Mysteres de Paris by Eugene Sue!! Read the
Miserables from Victor Hugo!!"
Mute is also the driver in
livery , opening with huge respect the door of a Mercedes 300 SL for Mistress or
Mister, coming from their Lucas-Carton dinner, also without any words, silent
and hautain.
What happened with the screams
we used to hear in other times? Let's listen to Sébastien Mercier who wrote in
1781-1788 in the Tableau de Pars:" There is no other city in the world
where the street merchants, news announcers have a more piercing and strident
voice as in Paris. You should hear them shout over the roofs, stronger than the
traffic noise. It is impossible for a foreigner to understand the slightest of what's
going on, even the Parisian makes the difference just out of experience. The
water-carrier, the woman hawking with old hats, the scrap merchant, vendor of
rabbit skins, the saleswoman of fresh sea fish and seafood: the person screaming
in a heatbreaking voice, is heard. All these conflicting shouts form an
ensemble you cannot imagine if you didn't hear it for yourself. ".
There were a lot of colorful professions that disappeared: the chair renting,
the match sellers, numerous crooks and folder distributors.
Let's add to this all the
seamstress in her barrel, the broker lurking for a business, the bill-sticker
with his ladder and pot of glue, the merchant in fake jewellery, the thread,
pins, knitwear sellers, the ointment makers , waffle and fruit merchant, all
very spry to bear their merchandise with them.
The great majority of all these
so-called "small professions" have disappeared today . The screams
floating in Paris air, to draw attention to their trade, exists only in fairy
tales. Luckily their image is printed in books and chromos and other new
professions appeared. but that's another article of my next Paris sketches.
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