WHO SAVED PARIS CITY FROM COMPLETE DESTRUCTION IN SECOND WORLD WAR

                                                

(Raoul Nordling, former Swedish Consul-General to Paris)

(General Dwight D Eisenhower (1890-1969) Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces )

(General Dietrich von Choltitz)

(General Dietrich von Choltitz)

                                            

WHO SAVED PARIS CITY FROM  COMPLETE DESTRUCTION  IN SECOND WORLD WAR

 

"Aey  shahr tera naam-o-nishaan  bhi nahin  hota,

Jo  haadse hone thay  agar ho gaye hotay.."

(O city, not even your name would remain,

 If the disasters that were meant to happen 

had actually happened.)

For years I laboured under the misapprehension that, during the Second World War, Adolf Hitler had issued explicit instructions to his troops to leave Paris’s historic monuments and cultural sites untouched, as though the city’s incomparable beauty had somehow secured it a special dispensation. That comforting notion, repeated in popular histories and casual conversation alike until it acquired the weight of fact, was thoroughly dispelled during my present stay in the city. A careful examination of archival material and wartime correspondence revealed a far starker reality. Far from safeguarding Paris, the Nazi regime systematically looted its private collections on a staggering scale, converted the Palais Bourbon and other palaces into Luftwaffe and Wehrmacht headquarters, and by the summer of 1944 had wired the Seine’s bridges, Notre-Dame, Les Invalides and the Eiffel Tower with explosives. Hitler’s directive to General Dietrich von Choltitz in August of that year was unequivocal: : “Paris darf nicht oder nur als Trümmerfeld in die Hand des Feindes fallen” , the capital was not to fall into Allied hands except as a field of ruins. That Paris endures today, its skyline and stone still largely intact, owes nothing to restraint on Hitler’s part. It owes instead to a confluence of resistance, negotiation and, ultimately, one general’s refusal to ignite the fuses.

In August 1944, as Allied forces advanced on the French capital, Adolf Hitler issued repeated and explicit orders to destroy Paris. Early that month he commanded General Dietrich von Choltitz, the German military governor, to “stamp out” any insurrection “without pity” and to demolish the city’s waterworks, power stations and dozens of historic bridges across the Seine, including the centuries-old Pont Neuf and the Pont Alexandre III. On 20 August he demanded “the widest destruction possible”. Three days later, on 23 August, the order became absolute. Hitler cabled von Choltitz: “Paris must not fall into the hands of the enemy, or, if it does, he must find there nothing but a field of ruins”. He later asked his staff the infamous question, “Is Paris burning?” German engineers carried out the groundwork. Explosives were laid beneath every bridge across the Seine, at the base of the Eiffel Tower, in the crypts of Notre Dame, inside the Louvre, at the Palais Garnier and other monuments that defined the city’s cultural identity. The aim was not only military denial but the erasure of Paris as a symbol.

Yet Paris was spared. The man who disobeyed was General Dietrich von Choltitz. An aristocratic Prussian officer who took command of the city on 7 August 1944, he received Hitler’s demolition orders but refused to execute them. By his later account, he judged the destruction militarily futile. He had insufficient troops to hold Paris against Allied armour, and razing the capital would not change the outcome of the war. He also professed an “affection for the French capital’s history and culture”, calling the order “medieval” while looking out from his headquarters over the Tuileries, Place de la Concorde and the Louvre. Other historians note that the Parisian Resistance had risen on 19 August, and by late August von Choltitz had little practical control of the city. The speed of the Allied advance meant full demolition was likely impossible even had he wished to comply. One account credits Swedish Consul-General Raoul Nordling with appealing to his legacy, asking whether he wanted to be remembered as the man who destroyed Paris or the man who saved it. Whatever the decisive factor, von Choltitz kept Hitler’s order in his pocket and showed it to no subordinate.

On 25 August 1944, with Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy’s Resistance fighters in control of key buildings and General Philippe Leclerc de Hauteclocque’s 2nd French Armoured Division entering the city, von Choltitz surrendered the German garrison at the Préfecture de Police on the Île de la Cité. He signed the terms of capitulation, ending four years of Nazi occupation. The charges under Paris’ bridges and landmarks were never detonated. For this, von Choltitz later became known, with some controversy, as the “Saviour of Paris”. Hitler, enraged, branded him a traitor and demanded his execution.

The significance of that decision was formally recognised 60 years later. On 25 August 2004, French President Jacques Chirac unveiled a commemorative plaque at the Préfecture de Police de Paris to mark the 60th anniversary of von Choltitz’s surrender. The tablet honours the moment Dietrich von Choltitz signed the terms of capitulation, ending the occupation. By choosing the Préfecture as the site, the ceremony tied two things together: the military liberation of the city and the survival of its bridges, monuments and cultural heritage. Though von Choltitz’s motives remain debated by historians, the commemoration positioned his refusal to execute Hitler’s “field of ruins” order as integral to the Liberation itself.

So who saved Paris in the Second World War? It was not one man alone. The French Resistance who rose against the occupiers, the Free French and Allied troops who fought into the city, and the Parisians who refused to yield all played their part. But the reason the Louvre, Notre Dame, and the Eiffel Tower still stand is because one German general disobeyed a direct order from Hitler. The plaque at the Préfecture de Police remains a reminder that 25 August marks not only the end of occupation, but the day Paris was spared from planned demolition.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

THE OLDEST PUBLIC CLOCK IN PARIS

                                         

     

                                               

                                              

                                          

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER WITH TIME : MY AFTERNOON  AT THE HORLOGUE  DU PALAIS DE LA CITE

I visited Sainte-Chapelle today, and the moment I crossed the bridge onto Île de la Cité, my eyes fell on this wonderful clock. There it was on the corner of the Conciergerie. The Horloge du Palais de la Cité. I had walked past photos of it online, yet nothing prepared me for the scale and the detail in person. The blue and gold face caught the midday sun, and the two statues seemed to watch the boulevard with solemn patience. I must have been staring, because a Vietnamese tourist who looked friendly noticed and came over. He had a small notebook in hand and spoke excellent English. With a smile, he pointed out that this was  Paris’s oldest public clock, first installed in 1371 for King Charles V. He explained how the single hand was original to its medieval design, because minute hands were not added to clocks until much later. I had assumed the missing minute hand meant it was broken. He laughed kindly and told me it was still wound by hand every week, and that it had been telling the time for Parisians for more than six hundred years. We stood there together for a few minutes, both of us looking up, whilst the traffic of the Boulevard du Palais flowed around us. His enthusiasm was infectious, and before he left to meet his tour group, he insisted I notice the two figures. Law on the left with her tablets, Justice on the right with her scales and sword. I thanked him, and the encounter shifted my whole afternoon. I had come for Sainte-Chapelle, but I realised I was now chasing the story of this clock.

After he left, I found a bench across the street and decided I needed to know more, so I gathered further information from other sources. I pulled up the Conciergerie’s official history on my phone and read about the 1585 reconstruction under Henri III. The version I was looking at was not the original 14th-century mechanism, although the purpose remained the same. It was meant to bring order to the city and to the courts housed inside the Palais de la Cité. The detail that struck me most was the heraldry at the top. The combined coats of arms of France and Poland sit beneath a crown, with a prominent “H” monogram for Henri III. I had forgotten he was elected King of Poland in 1573 before he inherited the French throne in 1574. The clock face was therefore a piece of royal propaganda in gilt and stone, declaring his double monarchy to anyone who passed. The sculptures I had admired were by Germain Pilon, one of the French Renaissance masters. Knowing the name made them feel more immediate, as if I could trace the chisel marks from the 1580s. Then there were the Latin inscriptions. The upper one reads "QVI DEDIT ANTE DVAS TRIPLICEM DABIT ILLE CORONAM" ,  meaning “He who has already given him two crowns will give him a third.” It is a bold bit of flattery, suggesting God would grant Henri III yet another kingdom. The lower inscription was even better. "MACHINA QVAE BIS SEX TAM JVSTE DIVIDIT HORAS JVSTITIAM SERVARE MONET LEGES QVE TVERI" that translates as “This machine which so justly divides the hours into twice six teaches us to uphold justice and observe the laws.” I read it twice, because it links timekeeping directly to the work of the Palais de Justice behind it. The clock was not just telling the hour. It was issuing a public instruction to the magistrates, lawyers, and citizens below. The background of deep azure with gold fleur-de-lis, restored in 2012, made the whole composition feel heraldic and alive. I sat there piecing it together, grateful for the friendly stranger who had given me the first thread.

The more I learned, the more the location made sense. Sainte-Chapelle, the Conciergerie, and the Horloge are all remnants of the medieval Palais de la Cité, once the primary residence of the Kings of France. Standing at that corner, I was essentially in the courtyard of a royal palace that had been converted into a courthouse after the Revolution. The chapel was Louis IX’s private place of worship, built to house the Crown of Thorns. The Conciergerie became a prison, and the clock became a witness to both splendour and suffering. It marked the hours for Marie Antoinette during her final days, and for countless others during the Revolutionary Tribunal. Thinking about that whilst looking up at the gilded face was sobering. The single hand had swept past those moments without comment, just as it swept past me today. I noticed how the clock anchors the north-east corner, greeting everyone who crosses Pont au Change from the Right Bank. You cannot enter Île de la Cité that way without meeting the gaze of Law and Justice. In a city full of monuments, this one feels functional and moral at once. It is still part of the working Palais de Justice, and barristers in black robes still hurry beneath it on their way to court. The 2012 restoration ensured the gold leaf and polychromy were crisp, but the message is unchanged from 1585. Time is not neutral here. It is tied to justice, to law, and to the idea that a well-ordered society depends on both. I left as the clock showed just past three, its solitary hand pointing solidly between III and IV. I had come to see a chapel and discovered a philosophy of time instead. My Vietnamese friend was right to stop. Without him, I might have walked past, as so many do. Because of him, I will always remember that my visit to Sainte-Chapelle began with stained glass and ended with a lesson from the oldest public clock in Paris.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

THE WALLACE FOUNTAINS OF PARIS : CAST-IRON CHARITY IN THE CITY OF LIGHT

                                            

THE WALLACE FOUNTAINS OF PARIS : CAST-IRON CHARITY  IN THE CITY OF LIGHT

In Paris, the small dark-green fountains with four caryatids are as much a part of the streetscape as Haussmann’s boulevards or Morris columns. Yet behind their familiar silhouette lies a Victorian story of war, philanthropy, and public health. Commissioned in 1872 by the British art collector Sir Richard Wallace, over 100 of these cast-iron fountains still give free drinking water to Parisians and visitors alike. Though most remain the original British Racing Green, a handful have different  colour including the striking red fountain on Avenue d’Ivry. Here is their story.

A Philanthropist’s Response to the Siege of Paris

The Wallace fountains were born from crisis. During the 1870–71 Franco-Prussian War and the Siege of Paris, the city’s aqueducts were damaged and water became scarce. The poor suffered most, often forced to buy expensive wine because clean water was unavailable. Richard Wallace, heir to the Marquess of Hertford’s fortune and a resident of Paris, funded 50 drinking fountains for the city. His brief to the sculptor Charles-Auguste Lebourg was clear: make them beautiful, robust, inexpensive, and useful. 

The first was installed on Boulevard de la Villette in August 1872. Wallace’s gift was deliberately civic rather than commemorative ;  no plaques bearing his name were required. The fountains were to be “at the will of the public”, placed in squares and at busy crossroads by Eugène Belgrand, the city’s hydraulic engineer under Haussmann. Today, there are 108 in Paris, and they run from mid-March to mid-November. 

 Anatomy of an Icon: The Four Models

Not all Wallace fountains are identical. Four main models were cast by the Val d’Osne foundry: 

(1)Large model: 2.71 m tall, 610 kg.

 The most famous. Four caryatids support a pointed dome decorated with dolphins. The women represent Kindness, Simplicity, Charity and Sobriety : virtues Wallace thought necessary after the Commune. They also embody the four seasons.

(2) Wall-mounted model: 

A half-fountain fixed to buildings, used where pavement space was tight.

(3) Small model:

 1.32 m, push-button, found in parks and gardens. Familiar to Parisian parents and children.

(4) Colonnade model: 

Cheaper to produce, the caryatids replaced by columns. Only two survive: Rue de Rémusat and Avenue des Ternes. 

All were cast iron for durability and painted dark green : unobtrusive, practical, and distinctly Parisian. Tin cups once hung on chains for communal use, were removed for hygiene reasons in the 1950s.

 From British Racing Green to Parisian Rainbow

For a century, green was law. But since the 2000s, the Mairie de Paris has allowed colour variations in the 13th arrondissement to reflect the neighbourhood’s character. The district’s Chinatown and street-art culture made it the canvas for a quiet rebellion. 

The most photographed is the large model painted red on Avenue d’Ivry*, in the Les Olympiades quarter. It sits in Paris’s Chinatown, and red was likely chosen as an auspicious colour in Chinese culture. This is almost certainly the “red fountain of Yanf feres” the user refers to — “Yanf feres” appears to be a mishearing or misspelling of “Avenue d’Ivry” or possibly “Olympiades/Chinatown”. There is no fountain officially named for a “Yan Feres” in Paris. The red Avenue d’Ivry fountain is well documented by photographers and the St. Olaf College photo contest.

Other colours exist: shocking pink on Rue Jean-Anouilh, yellow on Esplanade Pierre-Vidal-Naquet near the Bibliotheque Francois Mitterrand, and blue on Rue Brillat-Savarin. Tourists now treat them as a “treasure hunt”. A white one briefly appeared in the 3rd arrondissement but was repainted green. 

The colour change doesn’t alter function , they still provide free, clean drinking water. But it does shift meaning. Green says “heritage”. Red, pink, yellow say “this neighbourhood is alive”.

 Placement, Politics, and Public Life

Belgrand’s rule was simple: put them where people are thirsty. That meant markets, squares, intersections, and near schools. You’ll find one by Shakespeare and Company, another on Pont Neuf, and several along the Canal Saint-Martin. 

Their placement reveals 19th-century Parisian politics. Haussmann had rebuilt Paris for air and light, but water for the poor was still an afterthought. Wallace’s fountains plugged that gap without shaming the state ,  private charity doing public work. Maintained by Eau de Paris,  each fountain is marked with the Paris seal. 

They’ve also become social objects. During Bastille Day 1911, crowds drank directly from them. In 2026, TripAdvisor reviewers still call them “quintessentially Parisian”. For street photographers, the red Avenue d’Ivry fountain against tower blocks and Asian shop signs has become an icon of multicultural Paris.

Free, Safe Drinking Water for All

The most enduring achievement of the Wallace fountains is not aesthetic but practical: they still deliver free, potable water. Maintained by Eau de Paris, the municipal water company, each fountain is connected to the mains and checked regularly for quality. The water is the same as that from Parisian taps : cool, treated, and perfectly safe to drink. In an era of plastic bottles and €3 mineral water, the fountains remain a quietly radical gesture. Tin cups on chains disappeared in the 1950s for hygiene, but the principle endures: no one should have to pay for a basic human need. During heatwaves, the city promotes the fountains as public-health infrastructure, and signs reading 'Eau Potable' reassure visitors. Sir Richard Wallace’s 19th-century fix for cholera is now part of Paris’s climate adaptation plan.

What began as charity has become iconography. The dark-green caryatids feature in guidebooks, Instagram reels, and French-language textbooks. Tourists hunt them as if they were Pokémon: the classic large model by Shakespeare and Company, the rare colonnade version on Avenue des Ternes, and the photogenic outliers in the 13th. The red fountain on Avenue d’Ivry is now a destination in itself — framed by tower blocks and Chinese shop fronts, it captures the layered Paris of 2026 far better than the Eiffel Tower. Walking-tour companies run “Wallace hunts” in Belleville and Chinatown, and the fountains appear on postcards, tea towels, and enamel pins. Wallace wanted utility, but Paris has added mythology. The fountains are proof that public infrastructure, when done with artistry, becomes culture.

Where to Find Them

You are never far from a Wallace in central Paris. The highest concentration is in the 1st, 4th, 5th, 6th and 11th arrondissements — think Place Saint-Michel, Pont Neuf, the Jardin des Plantes, and Place de la République. The small push-button versions cluster in playgrounds and squares: Luxembourg Gardens, Parc Monceau, Square du Temple. If you want the colour variants, head to the 13th: red on Avenue d’Ivry near the Olympiades metro, pink on Rue Jean-Anouilh by the BnF, yellow on Esplanade Pierre-Vidal-Naquet, and blue on Rue Brillat-Savarin. Two colonnade survivors remain at Rue de Rémusat in the 16th and Avenue des Ternes in the 17th. Eau de Paris even publishes an interactive map, but part of the charm is stumbling across one ,  green or red  when you’re thirsty.

Legacy: More Than Street Furniture

The Wallace fountain is now shorthand for Parisian public good. It inspired copies worldwide, from Lisbon to New Orleans. Yet its real legacy is philosophical: beauty and utility need not be separate. Lebourg’s caryatids make a water tap into sculpture. Wallace proved philanthropy could be anonymous and still effective.

I saw a beautiful red fountain outside Tang Feres Asian Store  on Avenue d’Ivry when I went to buy some Lotus roots and collard greens .The fountain is still functional, same cast, same water, same virtues. The red paint doesn’t erase Kindness or Charity; it translates them for a new Paris.

So when you next see one, green or red, pause. The water is free, the cast iron is 150 years old, and the idea ; that a city should give its people clean water with dignity , is still radical.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.