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FUTURE PROGRESS
The excavation of the sewer of Paris has been no slight task.
The last ten centuries have toiled at it without being able to
bring it to a termination, any more than they have been able to
finish Paris.
The sewer, in fact, receives all the counter-shocks of the
growth of Paris.
Within the bosom of the earth, it is a sort of mysterious
polyp with a thousand antennae, which expands below as the city
expands above.
Every time that the city cuts a street, the sewer stretches
out an arm.
The old monarchy had constructed only twenty-three thousand
three hundred metres of sewers; that was where Paris stood in
this respect on the first of January, 1806. Beginning with this
epoch, of which we shall shortly speak, the work was usefully
and energetically resumed and prosecuted; Napoleon built--the
figures are curious--four thousand eight hundred and four metres;
Louis XVIII., five thousand seven hundred and nine; Charles X.,
ten thousand eight hundred and thirty-six; Louis-Philippe, eighty-nine
thousand and twenty; the Republic of 1848, twenty-three thousand
three hundred and eighty-one; the present government, seventy
thousand five hundred; in all, at the present time, two hundred
and twenty-six thousand six hundred and ten metres; sixty leagues
of sewers; the enormous entrails of Paris.
An obscure ramification ever at work; a construction which
is immense and ignored.
As the reader sees, the subterranean labyrinth of Paris is
to-day more than ten times what it was at the beginning of the
century. It is difficult to form any idea of all the perseverance
and the efforts which have been required to bring this cess-pool
to the point of relative perfection in which it now is.
It was with great difficulty that the ancient monarchical
provostship and, during the last ten years of the eighteenth century,
the revolutionary mayoralty, had succeeded in perforating the
five leagues of sewer which existed previous to 1806.
All sorts of obstacles hindered this operation, some peculiar
to the soil, others inherent in the very prejudices of the laborious
population of Paris.
Paris is built upon a soil which is singularly rebellious
to the pick, the hoe, the bore, and to human manipulation.
There is nothing more difficult to pierce and to penetrate
than the geological formation upon which is superposed the marvellous
historical formation called Paris; as soon as work in any form
whatsoever is begun and adventures upon this stretch of alluvium,
subterranean resistances abound. There are liquid clays, springs,
hard rocks, and those soft and deep quagmires which special science
calls moutardes.[59] The pick advances laboriously through the
calcareous layers alternating with very slender threads of clay,
and schistose beds in plates incrusted with oyster-shells, the
contemporaries of the pre-Adamite oceans.
Sometimes a rivulet suddenly bursts through a vault that has
been begun, and inundates the laborers; or a layer of marl is
laid bare, and rolls down with the fury of a cataract, breaking
the stoutest supporting beams like glass.
Quite recently, at Villette, when it became necessary to pass
the collecting sewer under the Saint-Martin canal without interrupting
navigation or emptying the canal, a fissure appeared in the basin
of the canal, water suddenly became abundant in the subterranean
tunnel, which was beyond the power of the pumping engines; it
was necessary to send a diver to explore the fissure which had
been made in the narrow entrance of the grand basin, and it was
not without great difficulty that it was stopped up.
Elsewhere near the Seine, and even at a considerable distance
from the river, as for instance, at Belleville, Grand-Rue and
Lumiere Passage, quicksands are encountered in which one sticks
fast, and in which a man sinks visibly.
Add suffocation by miasmas, burial by slides, and sudden crumbling
of the earth. Add the typhus, with which the workmen become slowly
impregnated. In our own day, after having excavated the gallery
of Clichy, with a banquette to receive the principal water-conduit
of Ourcq, a piece of work which was executed in a trench ten metres
deep; after having, in the midst of land-slides, and with the
aid of excavations often putrid, and of shoring up, vaulted the
Bievre from the Boulevard de l'Hopital, as far as the Seine; after
having, in order to deliver Paris from the floods of Montmartre
and in order to provide an outlet for that river-like pool nine
hectares in extent, which crouched near the Barriere des Martyrs,
after having, let us state, constructed the line of sewers from
the Barriere Blanche to the road of Aubervilliers, in four months,
working day and night, at a depth of eleven metres; after having--a
thing heretofore unseen-- made a subterranean sewer in the Rue
Barre-du-Bec, without a trench, six metres below the surface,
the superintendent, Monnot, died. After having vaulted three thousand
metres of sewer in all quarters of the city, from the Rue Traversiere-Saint-Antoine
to the Rue de l'Ourcine, after having freed the Carrefour Censier-Mouffetard
from inundations of rain by means of the branch of the Arbalete,
after having built the Saint-Georges sewer, on rock and concrete
in the fluid sands, after having directed the formidable lowering
of the flooring of the vault timber in the Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth
branch, Duleau the engineer died.
There are no bulletins for such acts of bravery as these,
which are more useful, nevertheless, than the brutal slaughter
of the field of battle.
[59] Mustards.
The sewers of Paris in 1832 were far from being what they
are to-day. Bruneseau had given the impulse, but the cholera was
required to bring about the vast reconstruction which took place
later on.
It is surprising to say, for example, that in 1821, a part
of the belt sewer, called the Grand Canal, as in Venice, still
stood stagnating uncovered to the sky, in the Rue des Gourdes.
It was only in 1821 that the city of Paris found in its pocket
the two hundred and sixty-thousand eighty francs and six centimes
required for covering this mass of filth.
The three absorbing wells, of the Combat, the Cunette, and
Saint-Mande, with their discharging mouths, their apparatus, their
cesspools, and their depuratory branches, only date from 1836.
The intestinal sewer of Paris has been made over anew, and,
as we have said, it has been extended more than tenfold within
the last quarter of a century.
Thirty years ago, at the epoch of the insurrection of the
5th and 6th of June, it was still, in many localities, nearly
the same ancient sewer. A very great number of streets which are
now convex were then sunken causeways.
At the end of a slope, where the tributaries of a street or
cross-roads ended, there were often to be seen large, square gratings
with heavy bars, whose iron, polished by the footsteps of the
throng, gleamed dangerous and slippery for vehicles, and caused
horses to fall.
The official language of the Roads and Bridges gave to these
gratings the expressive name of Cassis.[60]
[60] From casser, to break:
break-necks.
In 1832, in a number of streets, in the Rue de l'Etoile,
the Rue Saint-Louis, the Rue du Temple, the Rue Vielle-duTemple,
the Rue Notre-Dame de Nazareth, the Rue Folie-Mericourt, the Quai
aux Fleurs, the Rue du Petit-Muse, the Rue du Normandie, the Rue
Pont-Aux-Biches, the Rue des Marais, the Faubourg Saint-Martin,
the Rue Notre Dame des-Victoires, the Faubourg Montmartre, the
Rue Grange-Bateliere, in the Champs-Elysees, the Rue Jacob, the
Rue de Tournon, the ancient gothic sewer still cynically displayed
its maw. It consisted of enormous voids of stone catch-basins
sometimes surrounded by stone posts, with monumental effrontery.
Paris in 1806 still had nearly the same sewers numerically
as stated in 1663; five thousand three hundred fathoms.
After Bruneseau, on the 1st of January, 1832, it had forty
thousand three hundred metres. Between 1806 and 1831, there had
been built, on an average, seven hundred and fifty metres annually,
afterwards eight and even ten thousand metres of galleries were
constructed every year, in masonry, of small stones, with hydraulic
mortar which hardens under water, on a cement foundation.
At two hundred francs the metre, the sixty leagues of Paris'
sewers of the present day represent forty-eight millions.
In addition to the economic progress which we have indicated
at the beginning, grave problems of public hygiene are connected
with that immense question:
the sewers of Paris.
Paris is the centre of two sheets, a sheet of water and a
sheet of air. The sheet of water, lying at a tolerably great depth
underground, but already sounded by two bores, is furnished by
the layer of green clay situated between the chalk and the Jurassic
lime-stone; this layer may be represented by a disk five and twenty
leagues in circumference; a multitude of rivers and brooks ooze
there; one drinks the Seine, the Marne, the Yonne, the Oise, the
Aisne, the Cher, the Vienne and the Loire in a glass of water
from the well of Grenelle. The sheet of water is healthy, it comes
from heaven in the first place and next from the earth; the sheet
of air is unhealthy, it comes from the sewer.
All the miasms of the cess-pool are mingled with the breath
of the city; hence this bad breath.
The air taken from above a dung-heap, as has been scientifically
proved, is purer than the air taken from above Paris.
In a given time, with the aid of progress, mechanisms become
perfected, and as light increases, the sheet of water will be
employed to purify the sheet of air; that is to say, to wash the
sewer.
The reader knows, that by "washing the sewer" we
mean:
the restitution of the filth to the earth; the return to the
soil of dung and of manure to the fields. Through this simple
act, the entire social community will experience a diminution
of misery and an augmentation of health. At the present hour,
the radiation of diseases from Paris extends to fifty leagues
around the Louvre, taken as the hub of this pestilential wheel.
We might say that, for ten centuries, the cess-pool has been
the disease of Paris.
The sewer is the blemish which Paris has in her blood. The
popular instinct has never been deceived in it.
The occupation of sewermen was formerly almost as perilous,
and almost as repugnant to the people, as the occupation of knacker,
which was so long held in horror and handed over to the executioner.
High wages were necessary to induce a mason to disappear in
that fetid mine; the ladder of the cess-pool cleaner hesitated
to plunge into it; it was said, in proverbial form:
"to descend into the sewer is to enter the grave;"
and all sorts of hideous legends, as we have said, covered this
colossal sink with terror; a dread sink-hole which bears the traces
of the revolutions of the globe as of the revolutions of man,
and where are to be found vestiges of all cataclysms from the
shells of the Deluge to the rag of Marat.
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