If you’re in the market for a little place in Paris, centrally located, Knight Frank has got just the thing for you. Admittedly, it’s only a wing of a larger hôtel particulier on the Rue Vide-Gousset, but it has an enviable view over the Place des Victoires. Mind you, I’ve always been of two minds about the Place des Victoires. I’m not particularly a fan of Louis XIV, whose somewhat silly equestrian statue presides foppishly over the centre of the circus: I’ve always blamed him for the French Revolution, failing to heed Margaret Mary Alacoque’s warnings and all that. But the statue’s only been there since 1828, so perhaps it can be replaced with something better in a suitably classical style.

Five storeys, seventeenth century, “restored to its original elegance” (meaning it’s been a bit done-up unfortunately — I prefer my places structurally sound but with a crumbling appearance) “with entry through a private courtyard into a world of total seclusion”. Three reception rooms, three terraces (including the one pictured up top), nine bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a place to park, and a lift (how almost vulgar!).

Bet it’d be good for parties though.

It’s in five sections: here are the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth.

Have you ever come across the French Ministry of Culture on the Rue Saint-Honoré? It’s a perfect example of the architecture of immaturity. The government ministry was formerly strewn across nineteen different sites throughout Paris. The decision was made to consolidate their offices in one place, and the suitably central location near the Palais Royal was chosen.

The main building on the site is a handsome building from the late nineteenth-century or at the latest 1900s, with a modern 1960s office building stuck behind it. The Ministère chose architect Francis Soler to “unify” the buildings into one. At first, this was meant to be done solely through an interior reorganisation, but Soler decided to add a strange grille to the façade.

A certain unity is achieved, but to what end? Soler’s veil feels like a cheap trick, and an unsuccessful one at that since through the grille we still perceive the difference in the two components of the building. It achieves little more than scarring an otherwise handsome and contextual façade. Furthermore, the windows and doors chosen for the renovation of the older building are inappropriate and feel out of place.

Another point is the failed engagement with the street. This area has many shops, restaurants, and the like and yet the Ministry has decided to keep for itself even the street-level space in the building. Why not rent the space out to various enterprises, which would act as a source of revenue and integrate the building better into the neighbourhood?

One of my underlying intentions, however, is to remember that there is something we have lost, and we should recognise and admit it as a loss rather than blindly worshipping at the altar of the god Progress. I challenge anyone to read this story and deny that we today have lost something profoundly good.

The story is related by Auguste de Belloy and was published in the nineteenth-century periodical L’Illustration under the title ‘Customs of the Café Valois’.

Farewell, O good old days! Farewell, O affable visage of the proprietor and smiling and respectful reception of the waiters! Farewell, O solemn entries of the Café Valois’ dignified customs, which people were curious to see. Such was the case with the Knight Commander Odoard de La Fere’s arrival.

At exactly noon, the canon of the Palais-Royal heralded his arrival. He would appear on the threshold and pause for a moment to sweep the salon with an affable and self-assured gaze as someone eager to practice a longtime custom. His right hand pressing firmly on the white and blue porcelain handle of his cane, he threw his old faded brown cape over his shoulder with a swing of his left hand. No one ever snickered at this, since not even the most elegant mantle with golden fleur-de-lys embroidery was ever thrown back with a more distinguished movement.

In 1789 the former steward of the Prince of Conti ran the Café Valois; it was rather devoid of political colour and local flavor at that time.

Among the frequenters of the place, standing out by his noble manners, stately demeanor and wooden leg, was the Chevalier de Lautrec. He was from the second line of that family, an old brigadier of the king’s army, a Knight of Malta, of Saint Louis, of Saint Maurice and of Saint Lazare.

The Chevalier de Lautrec was a middle-aged man who lived a modest, though very dignified life on his small pension. Though he rarely appeared in society, he could be seen most often at the Palais Royal and the Café Valois. He was a very cultured mind and an assiduous reader of all the newspapers.

Deprived of his pension overnight, it was never known what the Chevalier de Lautrec lived on at a time when it was so difficult to live, and so easy to die. But here we have something that sheds at least a dim light on this mystery.

One morning after finishing a very modest breakfast in the Café Valois, as was his custom, the Chevalier de Lautrec rose from his table, chatted with all naturalness with the proprietress, who stood behind a counter, bid good-day to the master of the café with a slight gesture of the eyes, and walked out majestically saying nothing about the bill.

This scene was repeated the next day, and the next, and on every day for weeks, months and years without the owner of the establishment ever receiving an explanation from the Chevalier or even thinking to ask him for one.

A few days after the first of these singular exits, as the Chevalier directed his gaze to the good proprietor’s son, he said to the father in an unpresuming tone of voice.

“Well, here is a cavalier that will learn very little now that the schools are closed. You should send him to my house everyday between one and four o’clock in the afternoon. I shall teach him elementary mathematics and English, which I speak passably.”

“No doubt this would be useful to him if he is to replace you some day; and besides, I really don’t have anything to occupy my time, so these lessons would help to entertain me.”

“Milord, you are really very good, a thousand times good,” answered the innkeeper. “What you propose would be an invaluable favor to us, especially in these times. But, we would not dare encumber you to the point of…”

“But it would rather be doing me a service, I tell you!” the Chevalier interjected.

Despite the fact that his eyes were so full of authority, he said this with no firmness at all, but the worthy proprietor was indeed perceptive to appreciate this contrast, and he came close to thrusting his son into the Chevalier’s arms.

“Milord,” said the innkeeper, “you are much too generous to us. My son is yours, as well as my whole house, today, tomorrow and always.”

For many years thereafter the boy studied English and mathematics at the house of the impoverished noble.

On the 7th of December, 1817, at eleven o’clock in the morning, that is, exactly 26 years to the day and to the hour after this conversation, the now elderly Chevalier de Lautrec entered into the Café Valois as was his custom. The former owner had died 5 years earlier and was succeeded by his son.

After he had dined with a good appetite the Chevalier, for the first time in 26 years, candidly asked for the check while he paged with all naturality through the Drapeau Blanc [the monarchist daily newspaper].

Without batting an eyelash, the proprietor exchanged a few words with his young wife. Ten minutes later the Chevalier received a bill in the amount of 16,980 francs for 8,490 dinners at 2 francs each.

The old nobleman glanced at the total, opened his wallet, took out enough bills for the sum and handed them to the waiter along with the check, telling him to keep the change, which was exactly 520 francs. He rose up from the table, doubtless feeling much lighter, though his expression betrayed nothing of it. He then went over to the counter according to his old habit and conversed with the young mistress of the establishment for a few moments before slowly directing his steps towards the door. Then, with a napkin draped over his arm, the proprietor respectfully stepped aside to allow him to pass by, the old Chevalier gravely took his hand and warmly pressed it between his own.

The silent scene we have just described did not go unnoticed by the Marquis de Rivarol, who was coming in just then after having set his watch to the famous clock of the Palais Royal.

At the time of the Restoration, the Chevalier de Lautrec inherited a small share of the estate of one of his brothers who had died in Coblentz shortly before. Even though it was an appreciable sum, most of it was consumed settling hefty bills that were long overdue. But thanks to the recovery of his pension, he was able to end his days with financial ease and always faithful to the Café Valois for whose advancement he contributed to as we shall explain.

We have seen that the proprietor of that hospitable establishment was a creditor like few are found in any epoch. Few cases as beautiful as the one we have related dignified the life of that good man, with no great harm to his finances. This businessman of ancient stock did not treat everyone indiscriminately. He possessed a clear perception and sensibility of heart.

With the Chevalier de Lautrec’s payment, the proprietor recovered most of what was owed him, and as to the interest on that debt, which he had never contemplated charging, he was generously compensated by the lessons from such a proficient teacher of English, mathematics and, above all, good sentiments.

Furthermore, owing to this noble relationship, the Café Valois won distinguished and selected patrons. It acquired an even greater original character, which was a considerable advantage and almost vital need for such an establishment at that time.

Indeed, the Marquis de Rivarol was not a man who would miss such a good opportunity to be indiscreet for charity’s sake. Since he had many relations among the monarchists of that time, as he would also among those of the future, it became easy for him to serve the interests of his favorite café by making this and other anecdotes well known.

Thanks to him, the owner of the establishment became something of a curiosity and was sought out to the point of aggravation. This was compounded by the fact that although the innkeeper’s political convictions were as vague as they were moderate, his qualities were ascribed to his perceived political fervor, but in reality they lay in innate kindness and paternal tradition. In any case, this was very advantageous to him, for while the Calé Lemblin became the meeting place of the officers of the Empire, now retired or in the reserves, and of some republicans and liberals not belonging to the army, the voltigeurs of Louis XV and the young members of the Guards Corps chose the Cafe Valois.

“Vu hier soir à Odéon” writes Nicholas S-M, posting this photo on Facebook.

Of course, my mind immediately wanders to Le Secret de La Licorne, the 3D film version of which (directed by Mr. Spielberg) will be released before the end of the year. I am sure I will hate it, but in that way you can hate things while still liking them.

As if you needed more reasons to despise Nicolas Sarkozy! Well, this one we can’t even blame on him. Shall I explain? The national flag of France is a tricolour of three equal vertical stripes of blue, white, and red. Excepting the heady days of the Bourbon restoration, this has consistently been the French flag for the past two centuries now. A little while into the Sarkozy presidency, however, I began noticing a change only in the French flag as displayed whenever the President gave a press conference. The white stripe was reduced in width by half and the space on either side given to the neighbouring colours. The obvious deduction made was that the President wanted all three colours of the national flag shown whenever there were close-up press photographs of himself, and research confirms that this is the case. This shows an awareness for visual representation, but is nonetheless a highly unusual assault on the official flag of a nation.

However, the narrow-striped flag is not an innovation introduced by Sarkozy, although most widely used by him. It first appeared during the Mitterand presidency in 1994, during an interview on the television programme Mots croisés. Jacques Chirac continued the occasional use of this modified flag, which in March 1999 drew comment in a letter to the editor of the Belfort newspaper Le Pays:

I have been having my doubts for years under the presidency of François Mitterrand; his successor, Jacques Chirac, confirmed my doubts. Indeed, our national emblem, born during the Revolution, was modified on the sly and nobody reacted. Our flag shall be made of three vertical blue, white and red stripes of equal size, which is no longer the case, at least for the flag of the Élysée Palace. The white stripe was reduced by half under the presidency of François Mitterrand, and his successor seems to put up with this flag. How can a man, even if he is the President of the Republic, assume the right of changing our flag? I know well that white symbolizes royalty and that by “republicanism” François Mitterrand wanted to make a lasting impression, but there are probably texts, regulations, and maybe a law defining precisely our emblem. I know well that today the “Prince” sometimes decides on his own, against the course of history. It is great time to come back to a more republican conception of our emblem and one of our deputies or our senators should ask a question to the government on this matter.

It was years before anyone took up the letter-writer’s suggestion. On May 23, 2002, Senator Jean-Louis Masson submitted a written question to the defence minister, Michèle Alliot-Marie: “Should the tricolour flag have its three stripes of equal dimensions?” The minister’s eventual response was that the Constitution “states that the tricolore blue, white, red flag is the national emblem of France, but does not give any precision about the width of each stripe; therefore, the former dispositions should be considered as unchanged.”

Can you imagine if politicians throughout the world started arbitrarily and without authority changing their national flags for the purposes of press conferences? Thankfully, this practice has not been noticed anywhere but the Elysée and, as in the photo up top, in places the President travels and his hosts apparently give in to his request for the mis-proportioned flag. Wiser hosts should not give in to such megalomaniacal manipulation of national emblems.

If you can possibly ignore its blood-soaked foundation and its disregard for the freedom of the Church, one can appreciate that the French Republic does republicanism with a dash of pizzazz, as evidenced by the late Philippe Séguin’s official robes as President of the Cour des comptes. Of course, most of this panache it inherited from its intermittent monarchic and (even more so) imperial past. It also inherited from Louis XIV an ever-present spirit of centralisation — the Republic frowns upon the principle of subsidiarity.

Monsieur Séguin was a decent sort. Not so much a conservative as a social-Gaullist anti-liberal, he led the opposition to the Maastricht treaty, most famously facing the then-president François Mitterand in a television debate. Despite a precocious refusal to toe the line, he was President of the National Assembly from 1993 to 1997, and head of the Gaullist party, the RPR, from ’97 until his 1999 resignation, which paved the way for the rise of the thoroughly lamentable Nicolas Sarkozy.

And he was a jowly man if ever there was one, with the sort of face caricaturists dream of.

“I created the first one in 2009 because at that time there was an energy crisis in Europe,” Mr. Tsvetkov said. “I just created it to amuse my friends but when I put it up on my website so many people liked it that I decided to really focus on the project of mapping the stereotypes based on different places in Europe. I was surprised by the reaction because I never really expected it to take off like this.”

Europe according to the French.

Europe according to the Germans.

Europe according to the Italians.

Europe according to the British.

Europe according to the Americans.