Paris, Capital of Pleasure: The Geography of Vice and Seduction. The historical context of the Olympia and A Bar by Édouard Manet
- Art d'Histoire
- Jan 25
- 5 min read
While the "French System" attempted to confine prostitution within registered brothels, the reality of 19th-century Paris was far more chaotic and pervasive. By the late 1880s, observers noted a massive shift: clandestine prostitution was dealing a mortal blow to the official houses. Why would a man go to a disreputable establishment when pleasure was offered on every street corner? The city had transformed into a vast, open-air market for intimacy, mapped out by invisible borders and secret codes that turned the entire capital into a theatre of desire, famously known as the "New Babylon".
The Conquest of the Pavement
The geography of vice shifted dramatically from the closed house to the public boulevard. As revealed by the mapping of Parisian prostitution, the number of official brothels fell drastically while the streets filled with activity. Shopkeepers from the Madeleine to the Faubourg Poissonnière complained bitterly that their storefronts were obstructed by women soliciting customers, driving away "honest" clientele.
Painters like Jean Béraud captured this ambiguity, depicting crowds where midinettes and solicitors mingled. In the crush of the boulevards, it became increasingly difficult to distinguish a respectable woman from a "hidden intruder" in the crowd, turning a simple stroll into a game of deciphering social signals.
The Art of "Psst!" and Window Soliciting
For those who remained indoors, the architecture itself became a tool for advertising. Although regulations strictly forbade prostitutes from exhibiting themselves at windows, women developed an elaborate language to bypass the police. They used the codes of window-soliciting to communicate with the street below: a "psst! psst!" whispered through a shutter, or a cigarette smoked casually on a balcony.
In lower-class districts, women might sit on window sills, aggressively calling out. In more upscale areas, the signals were subtle. A colored lampshade—scarlet, green, or blue—placed on a pedestal table signaled availability, while a strategic arrangement of flowers and birdcages framed a face just enough to invite interest without technically breaking the law.
The Pretext Shops: Perfume and Gloves
To escape the stigma of the brothel and the watchful eye of the Vice Squad, many women operated under the guise of legitimate commerce. Known as pretext shops, these establishments appeared to be perfumeries, glove shops, or linen stores.
In the back rooms of these "fake dye works" or milliners, however, the real transaction took place. A glove fitting could easily turn into a sensual encounter in a curtained alcove. These boutiques were notoriously difficult for the police to regulate, as they maintained a façade of respectability while selling "human flesh on the cheap," often employing "shopgirls" who were essentially unregistered prostitutes.
The Demi-Monde: Power and Ruin
At the top of this hierarchy stood the so-called Demi-Monde. Coined by Alexandre Dumas fils, the term described a class of women separated from respectability by scandal but separated from common prostitution by wealth. These women did not just sell sex; they hosted salons, influenced literary elections, and mingled with bankers and artists at the opera and the races.
However, as Émile Zola noted in his research for Nana, this world was often a veneer over ruin. The networks of the Demi-Monde were predatory. "Upholsterers" and "dressmaker-procuresses" outfitted these women at usurious rates, effectively acting as high-society pimps. A demi-mondaine had to be seen in the latest fashions to maintain her market value, often trapping her in a cycle of debt where she was forced to sell herself to pay for the very image that allowed her to sell herself.
The Tourist’s Guide to Sin
For the visitor, Paris was a labyrinth that required a map. Publishers capitalized on this by printing tourist guides to brothels and streetwalkers. Books like The Pretty Women of Paris, Paris-Fêtard, or The Nocturnal Pleasures of Paris were essential manuals for the libertine traveler.
These guides, often published in multiple languages, listed addresses, prices, and the specific "qualities and faults" of women, treating them like monuments to be visited. They promised to help the "foreigner and bon vivant" navigate the pitfalls of the "Gay City," warning them of scams while directing them toward specific pleasures, from soup rooms to private dining salons.
Voyeurism and Fetishism
The industry also catered to specific perversions and the desire for visual stimulation. Some establishments specialized in the business of sexual voyeurism. Rooms were equipped with peepholes, acoustic horns, or one-way mirrors, allowing wealthy clients to pay for an "orchestra seat" to watch unsuspecting (or complicit) couples.
Other houses staged tableaux vivants (living pictures). Under harsh lighting, women posed to mimic marble statues or scenes from mythology. As described by Dr. Fiaux, these "indecent ballets" often devolved into orgies, providing a veneer of artistic appreciation to cover raw exhibitionism.
Another popular fantasy involved religious transgression. Prostitution in nun's clothing was a staple in certain houses. Triggered by libertine literature and the eroticized iconography of saints like Mary Magdalene, brothels kept habits in their wardrobes. Some prostitutes, like the infamous Eugénie Guillou, even specialized in this role, utilizing costumes to perform flagellations or enact blasphemous scenarios for devout clients.
The Underground Image Trade
Finally, technology fueled a new market: underground photographic erotica. Despite police raids seizing thousands of "obscene" prints and stereoscopic cards, a thriving industry emerged.
Brothels used photo albums to present women who were not currently in the room. A common trick involved pasting the head of a famous actress onto the naked body of a common prostitute, allowing clients to fantasize about celebrities. These albums, seized by the police, now form a surprising archive of the era's hidden desires.
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