The sewers were certainly an interesting place to visit, to say the least. I had never quite imagined what a proper sewer looked like, and it was far more industrial appearing than I realized. In Les Misérables, I imagined it to be, for lack of a better word, far sleeker? Or perhaps just less busy in terms of pipes and whirring machinery. Obviously sewers now have more modern amenities, but with the industrial revolution, one could imagine sewers then were absolutely crowded with machinery and new pipes. I guess I had a weirdly more romantic image of it in my head? Certainly reinforced by the musical, after watching it whenever I thought of it I gave it the same ominous green glow, but seeing it in person really hammered in what an ugly, bleak, and smelly place it is. I really internalized what a terrible experience what wandering around in there would be like. Well lit, and further enough away from the actual intensely smelling portions of the Paris sewer, it was still damp, disgusting, and I walked through the same section on accident like twice. For Thénardier to be lurking down there? I’m not sure how he found Valjean. I liked how Hugo emphasized that Valjean got kind of lucky in picking a direction to head in. In fact, that whole section I appreciated for how richly descriptive it was. That kind of section is something I like to write, absolutely over the top with emotionally evocative imagery, even if that emotion it is evoking is disgust. Victor Hugo’s particular interest in sewers was interesting, and I do wonder if he went down there for any extended period of time. His dual interest and utter disgust with it is a fascinating juxtaposition, though I cannot say I was as receptive to the dueling ideas when I was down there. Perhaps it was because I ended up paying for my own ticket, but I was mostly bewildered that anyone would make a sewer into a museum? Stepping back, I can see the inspiring aspect to how important sewers were, considering they were still using chamber pots in parts of the world, as we saw rather helpfully in the London house we visited, and how both the inevitable traits of a sewer, and the lack of care in their implementation can be disgusting.
Speaking of damp, kind of gross underground places, we also visited the catacombs. I loved it, personally, as morbid and weird as that may be. Sobering, to be in the presence of so many dead. Not in the way that cemeteries are sobering, but a deeper, more profound sense of death, at least for me. I adore sentiments of revolution, but knowing that many of the bones were victims of the terror, I understood the fear of that kind of thing. Still, I think reactionary actions and responses are also deeply disturbing, but that’s a topic for another day. Lets get back to the dead bodies.
What a weird thing to do. Stack a bunch of bones up. Reading about how visitors, including royalty, would stroll through the catacombs was hilarious, and another reminder that people in the past were just that. People. Tourists into the same weird crap we are. I liked the idea that both some Austrian prince and I, separated by centuries, once happily trotted down a hall of skulls that stared blankly at us.