Paris is also a city of dark labyrinths

Down the circular stairwell you wind, past the marks and signs left by the surveyor’s of this realm, and deep into limestone strata that lies beneath Paris.


Until you come to a simple sign that tells you that you that this is the border between the empire of living and of the dead.


And what a land it is, six million residents of this necropolis, the uprooted citizens of Paris’ ancient graveyards now stacked behind revetments of thigh bones and skulls.


From the ancient Merovingian boneyards to the mass graves of the terror, they are all here in their mute serried ranks.


Past suburb and through underground chapel you go in this most silent of cities and always under the attentive gaze of the dead. Then suddenly you ascend to the busy Paris streets above, in a shock of noise, warmth and colour.

One thought on “Catacombs

  1. Pingback: Morning Train to Nice | My Favourite Year

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