Archives, day 1

Last night was mercifully my last at Woodstock Hostel (that's WOOOOD-stuck in French). The cavalcade of misfits with whom I shared a room kept me up the bulk of the night. Not one but two of the 5 Hanoverians in room 318 fell out of their beds in the middle of the night (one from the bunk above me). And the lone other American spent his night lost in snoring and flatulence. I could go on, but I'll spare you. Tonight I will occupy the room of some dude who is going to Dublin for the week and rented it out on craigslist paris. I will be alone at last.

When I blearily arose, the bountiful sun of the previous days had been replaced by a slow drizzle. And after committing the sacrilege of visiting a Starbucks to caffeinate and surf, I found that the right quarter of my laptop screen had lost its lunch, turning into a brilliant digital rainbow. Chances are this was either the consequence of normal wear and tear or impact from a falling German.

Fortunately, the bad weather and my temporary misanthropy put me in the perfect mood for my first day in the Archives Nationale. But first I paid a visit to Notre Dame (St. Denis on the left door above) to pay homage to the man whose death is the subject of my dissertation (expected completion date 2039). Between 1848 and 1871, three out of the four Archbishops of Paris were murdered. All three are interred in Notre Dame. Archbishop Affre died on the barricades in the 1848 revolution, his successor Sibour was shot during a mass by a defrocked priest who didn't like his position on the immaculate conception. The next guy died peacefully and was succeeded in 1863 by Georges Darboy. Darboy was takencaptive by the Communards in 1871 when Thiers had begun executing anyone he captured on sight. During the last days of the Commune ("Bloody week"), after the Commune government had already collapsed, a few remaining radicals decided to take their revenge on the destruction going on around them by taking Darboy and a few other priests to a courtyard and executing them. Darboy remained standing after the first volley, according to most accounts his hand upheld in a blessing, before the coup de grace felled him as well. His statue lies in an alcove chapel across from a statue of St. George slaying the dragon.

And so I went of to the archives (left), somewhat intimidated by the prospect of using my broken French to figure out procedure for procuring decaying documents and microfilm. Fortunately, the staff was amazingly kind and patient, and literally walked me through (up and down stairs) the process. And before I knew it I was taking pictures of Darboy's handwritten correspondence. All in all, a very successful day. Unfortunately, I am beginning to miss Jenny and Gabriel far too early and far too much. Thanks all for reading this - it is good to get my thoughts in order and it gives me something to do everyday while resting my legs and wallet. More later...