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Hello, and welcome to My Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host, Genevieve Manion, and I'm here to talk about mysterious deaths, morbid fascinations, disturbing stories, and otherwise spooky events from the Victorian era. Because to me, there's just something especially intriguing, creepy, and oddly comforting about horror and mayhem from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello friends, and welcome to this, my 107th episode. And have I got a tragically Parisian Victorian episode for you. Today In Paris, France, 1897, elegant ladies in sweeping silk gowns walk past charming wooden storefronts, pausing to admire sparkling jewelry, delicate lace and handcrafted treasures. Then, in an instant, the enchanting atmosphere becomes filled with smoke. The Paris Charity Bazaar ignites like a tinderbox. A raging infant inferno swallows the hall as hundreds scramble desperately for the doors. By the time the flames will be extinguished, more than 120 people will be dead, many of them among the wealthiest and most prominent women in France. The disaster will shock the world with haunting stories of extraordinary courage, heartbreaking sacrifice, and moments of astonishing cruelty. For you today, dear listener, I will discuss the Paris Charity bazaar fire of 1897. How an event devoted to gaiety, high society, socializing and generosity became one of the deadliest fire tragedies in French history. But first, as always, thank you everyone who has joined the Patreon. You are the reason why my show can continue. I covered one of the most aggravating 19th century true crime stories last week, the murder of Maria A. Bickford on the True Crime Extras where a lawyer used the somnambulist defense arguing that if his client did kill this woman, he was probably asleep because he was a sleepwalker. The entire story will make you want to rip your hair out. Enjoy. I also discussed how to get both your home and your brain ready for eclipse season, which is among us on the fan coven, what to burn and how to burn it, etc if you too enjoy witchy stuff, perhaps Victorian true crime, dark poetry read in a clove cigarette, smoky chocolatey voice and the idea of receiving this show right here at free Click the link to the free trial of the Patreon content in the episode notes. Oh, and I'm going to be be announcing something very exciting in the upcoming newsletter this week. So if you have not subscribed, now is the time. You will also find a link there in the episode notes and totes are back in stock in the store. They were out of stock for a bit. I decided to create a burglar bitten by a skeleton tote in honor of the totes being back in stock, they were out for months. It was driving me crazy. I put a link to the ever so tasteful burglar bitten by a skeleton totes in the episode notes as well. Help yourself. 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If you're not a fan of swallowing pills like my Pomeranian, I gotta hide them in peanut butter for him. And my favorite thing about Aqua Omega is that they partner with 4Ocean to ensure that every bottle sold removes one pound of plastic and debris from our ocean and coastlines. For your daily dose of omega 3s, go to myaqua omega.com for and use code Victorian for 20% off. That's myaquaomega.com Victorian and use code Victorian for 20% OFF link in the episode notes also available on Amazon. Thanks to Aqua Omega for sponsoring this episode. Okay, let's discuss the Charity Bazaar fire of Paris in 1897. I am going to discuss the entire tragic event and aftermath. This episode will get quite graphic. Just a forewarning, but as I work up to it, I'm going to add in some other historical details and fun facts to make the story a little less brutal. But just know that we will be off to the races in no time. I am just going to add some nice unrelated details for my own mood disorder's sake and yours. Also, apologies in advance for my French pronunciations throughout this episode. I cannot be trusted with the French language and you may be thinking to yourself, Genevieve, you have access to the Internet. It can show you how to pronounce French words. Surely you can do a fraction of due diligence. But no, no. It's a situation where, like, French is circle shaped, but my mouth is a square hole. It's. It's not going in there. It doesn't fit. I can't land the jump. When it comes to pronouncing French correctly, mea culpa in advance. Okay, let's begin. My main references for today are a jerrywalton.com article by Gerry Walton and a broadhistory.com. all of my other references can be found in the show notes. It was a lovely afternoon, May 3, 1897, when Harry Blount opened the doors of the Bazaar de la Charite, which was scheduled to be open for four days. And it sounds like this event looked perfectly charming. I would kill to go to an event like this in the 1890s. It was described as a long gallery having small, narrow, picturesque stalls that were fabricated to look like pretty storefronts. An attendee described the layout as shops standing open in which smiling ladies and bright costumes kept the stalls, while outside the shops were young assistants pressing the passersby to enter. The building itself was constructed just for this event, a large wooden structure that would be disassembled once the bazaar was done. The inside was designed like a fancy, mini Parisian street. You could buy paintings and artwork, jewelry like brooches, bracelets, lockets and rings, antiques, books, pottery, decorative vases, many hand painted in China, fancy needlework like embroidery, lace, table linens. Most of the products were donated from wealthy families, and the people working in the stalls were duchesses, countesses and other society ladies. It was one of the greatest social events of the season in Paris. Each stall would have a large, lovely little name, like the golden lion, the Cat in Boots, the Tower of Nestle. There was a buffet serving food and drinks, champagne and wine, of course, and a cinematograph. That may sound familiar if you've seen Bram Stoker's Dracula. I am only looking for the cinematograph. I understand it is a wonder of the civilized world, Dracula says to Mina, to which she replies, if you seek culture, you should visit a museum. London is filled with them. I just recited that entirely from memory. A cinematograph was a film projector, and indeed it was a wonder to many who could see some of the very earliest films ever made. Have you ever wondered how in the 19th century they could produce sustained light that was so bright it could project film onto a screen that was at least 8 to 10ft away. The answer is science. Very flammable science. The cinematograph operated with the use of ether. The ether served as fuel, which evaporated into a highly flammable vapor. Oxygen was stored in compressed cylinders and was fed into a burner under pressure. So ether would fuel the operation. Oxygen would create a very hot flame and then a chemical reaction with quick line calcium oxide would emit the brilliant sustained white light to project the images of the film onto a screen. The entire history of film is a very dangerous one. In general, the reason Technicolor cellulose nitrate film went out of style wasn't because it wasn't vastly superior to the polyester plastic based film that we use today. It was color wise. I once saw an illegal print of Singing in the Rain that was an original print and I had never seen anything like the color in that film. The reason it was illegal was because that film would essentially self combust if it was improperly stored. As it deteriorates, it creates an exothermic chemical process and releases flammable gases and heat. The film itself, not deteriorated, was also highly flammable. Movie theater fires were incredibly common throughout the 20th century because of the film bursting into flames. But all that aside, the charity bazaar was a place to show off just how much you were willing to spend for a tea set, a lace tablecloth. All for charity, of course, but also to show off just how much money you had and how generous you were with it, which I don't have a single problem with at all. We need more events like that, I think. But it wasn't just for rich folks. Anyone could attend. As mentioned, the building was a large wooden structure, custom built for the affair. And it had a highly combustible draped canvas across the top as like a ceiling. The first day went off without a hitch. Everyone who was anyone was there. Society ladies and gentlemen from all over Europe and America would come to this event. There was anywhere between 1500-1800 people shuffling through the lovely stalls on the very first day. Aristocrats like the Duchess of Alanson, the Duchess Sophie of Bavaria. It was especially fun to attend because you would be served by the likes of the Kardashians. The cream of socialite society would clamor over each other to get their own stall for selling. Working these stalls was like a staff status symbol. Imagine going to like the Union Square Christmas Bazaar in Manhattan and like Paris Hilton is working at an artisan soap stall, all for charity. It gave fancy folks the opportunity to schmooze with other fancy folks in a setting that was fun and all for a very good cause. And if you would follow me through the lobby of this lovely Hotel du Palais in 1897, I want to show you something. Oh, and what a beautiful lobby it is. Large marble pillars, palm trees. Those are special. Victorians loved palm trees. Not just because they added some greenery indoors, which was special in a big city like Paris. Oh, don't worry. We will return to the horrible disaster shortly. Very shortly. Palms represented empire scientific progress. Being able to bring bring tropical plants and care for them in places like this. Wealth and the romance of exotic distant lands. At this point in time, palm trees were the pinnacle of fashionable Victorian interior design. Oh, and lilacs at this very moment because they are currently in bloom. Oh, look at that arrangement. The whole hotel smells like lilacs and champagne and a bit of BO as was always the case in this era. And we're going to scoot around this corner to the hotel bar. Bon soir, Henri. Bonsoir.
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Right this way.
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You remember Henri from episode 30 on Death Cafes. He was the maitre d of the Cabaret du Morges, the cabaret of death that we visited in that episode. He also works here in the early evenings. He also hates when I speak French, so that's why he's speaking to us in English, I presume.
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You sound like a rabbit chewing on a scar. Go. When you speak a French, you keep my language out of your beautiful mouth, Shel.
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A
You got it?
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B
I will bring you cognac.
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A
Yes, my darling. Thank you. Oh, how nice. We are in the back of the hotel and out that small window right there, you can see what doesn't look like much, just a big wooden wall. It is the back of the charity bazaar. Bazaar? It's just a wide open space when the bazaar is not on display. If it weren't there, we would have a view that leads to Avenue Danton in the Champs Elysees quarter.
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B
What did I tell you, Sherry?
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I'm sorry. I am sorry. How do you say Champs Elysees not in French.
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Oh, they're going to throw you in prison if you do not stop. I am trying to save your life.
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A
Thank you. I'm sorry.
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B
Take your cognac. You too, Sherry.
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Thank you kindly. Cheers, darling. As I was saying, that is the back of the bazaar. There are four doors that lead from the back out into that courtyard area, which is about only 20ft, I guess. 20 foot area between it and the hotel. The structure is built with about 4, 5ft or so on the sides, making Tight alleyways that go out to the street. So if you come out the back, you can scoot around and make your way down those alleys. But when the fire starts, those alleyways will just become smoke tunnels with flaming debris falling into them. There's no door out the back of this hotel here to that area out there. So anyone who comes out those back doors will be stuck. And the fire has already begun. Hen, Henri, look, please go tell the kitchen staff there's a fire in the bazaar. Or there is a large window from the kitchen that leads out to the back. This window here is too small. Oh, God. People are coming out fast, filling the courtyard. Oh, thank God. That glass breaking was the kitchen window. The cook just shattered it. And the manager of the hotel, Madame Roche Satier, is there guiding people through the kitchen here. They'll be coming through this door. God. Here, take your drink. Let's make our way back out and I'll explain what has happened. Happened from the beginning here. Let's pick up the pace a bit so people can get out more quickly. On the second day of the bazaar, May 4, at about 4:30 in the afternoon, smoke began to fill the corner of the hall, then quickly became a rapidly spreading fire. Some said it seemed like only a few seconds before the entire structure was entirely engulfed in flames. The stalls went up almost as quickly like tinder boxes. A panic ensued and people. People quickly turned toward what they thought were the exits. But the now burning canvas above them created a smoke so black it was almost impossible to tell which direction you were running. Those who did make it to the exits clogged the thin alleyways toward them. In the panic, people were getting pushed, trampled, suffocated and crushed underfoot, preventing people from getting to the exits more quickly. Some of the very first lucky ladies to make their way out of the exits straight away ran to nearby houses for help. Help. Others ran screaming into the streets, some for help, some with their dresses engulfed in flames, their very flammable dresses creating an inferno around them that no one could save them from. Oh, the horror. Dresses in the late 1800s were made of silk, cotton, wool, gauze, tulle and lace that all burned incredibly easily. Dresses were also made with an enormous amount of fabric, some of which was finished with waxes, oil, oils and resins to make them stiff or shiny. These would act as accelerants. There was so much fabric used in dresses that if any caught fire, it would be almost impossible to get it off in time. There would be a corset, a corset cover, petticoat overskirts, long trains, sometimes an opera coat, decorative trims like chiffon ribbons, artificial flowers and feathers would become like kindling. It wasn't until the 1970s that the stop, drop and roll technique became a thing. That was to a campaign by the National Fire Prevention Association. The campaign featured Dick Van Dyke. Although it's impossible to guess how many lives that campaign saved, it's likely very many. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of fire safety, and I think a lot of us do. But in these days, even if they knew the fastest way to stop clothing from burning, stop, drop and roll, it likely would not have helped too much with the massive amount of flammable fabric this episode of My Victorian Nightmare is brought to you by Alloy Health. I was listening to my favorite murder the other day and they were talking about their hot flashes. 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Just go to myalloid.com, complete the intake form and you'll be matched with a menopause specialized physician who will send you prescriptions right to your door. I cannot recommend Alloy enough join the 95% of women who tried aloi and saw relief in the first two weeks. Head to myalloi.com and use code Victoria and tell them all about your symptoms and you'll get a fully customized treatment plan and unlimited messaging with your doctor. Plus you'll get $20 off your first order today. Head to my a l l o y.com and use code VICTORIAN to get $20 off your first order. You'll find the link in the episode, notes a reporter that was there on the scene and escaped themself wrote in the Figaro, a French daily Newspaper quote. As the flames commenced to shoot up and round the charity bazaar, frenzied women for escaped from the furnace, uttering cries of fire. The faces of several of them were covered with blood. From time to time a little girl ran out crying for her mother. A number of women of the poorer classes standing in the crowd at the risk of burning themselves, tore the burning clothing in pieces from the persons of the ladies as they dashed in terror into the street. Police rushed quickly to the scene, but could barely control the crowds of people that were now crowding around the bazaar to see what was happening, making escape more difficult difficult for those inside. Police were also trying to provide some order for the terror stricken people who were lucky enough to escape, but knew people still inside that they could not rush back in to save. Another statement from the reporter on the scene said, quote, One poor old woman succeeded in making her way through one of the gaps in the wall. When she reached the open air, she seemed to be only half conscious and with her hat half torn from her head and her face covered with blood, presented a pitiable spectacle. As we hoisted her, an inert mass, out of the reach of the flames, we were suddenly drenched with streams of water poured by the occupants of a neighboring house over their walls, which were becoming gradually hotter and hotter. While police tried their best to control the crowds, people outside tried to help others escape. There were two priests, Father Bailly and Father Amboise. Their church was right next door, so they were there quickly just as the situation began to unfold. They to save 30 people by propping open a seam in the side of a wall. The chef and manager of the Hotel du Palais helped to save about 150 people who escaped through the back. The chef broke the window and worked a number of iron bars loose and pulled people inside while the manager guided people out and through. There was a fire beginning to burn in the courtyard and the manager and chef also helped to divert water toward it, effectively putting it out. A young girl named Fabienne ran out the front door, but her hair was on fire. And a groom on his wedding day ran to help put out the fire with his bare hands. Police rammed a car into the facade in hopes of opening up a hole in the side. A man who was there enjoying the bazaar with a few friends said that even before the fire the place was getting so packed with people that the air was stifling. So he was already attempting to find the exit, but could barely push his way through even without an emergency. But this is what he said of his experience once the fire began, said we tried to keep cool, but the rush from behind forced us forward and we got separated. I saw it was useless to try to find each other. Nevertheless, I endeavored to work my way back and in so doing was carried right off my feet and swayed backwards and forwards. I lost my hat and my coat was torn off my back, while all of my other clothes were torn. All this happened in a few seconds. Then the full extent of the calamity began to dawn upon us all, for the flames had spread with startling rapidity through the whole building. I gradually found myself pulled towards to the back of the building and at length succeeded in scrambling through an opening made in a wall by some of those near me. A second later and I should have been among four the victims, for I had hardly struggled through the hole before I heard a dreadful crash as the blazing roof fell in. There were only two doors at the front and four at the back, and those who did not make it through the hotel window attempted to escape down besides the thin alleyways, but were suffocated when they tried. Police and people outside had to attempt to prevent people from rushing back into the flames to save their family members, which is so tragic to even imagine. I don't know what kind of strength I would need to find in myself to prevent someone from trying to save someone they love, even if I knew that that person would get hurt if I let them go. The grief of doing that, I would imagine, would just overcome me. Good God, A witness from the outside said. Some minutes later, the whole of the wooden building in which the fire was raging collapsed with a frightful crash, enveloping us in smoke and covering us with sparks and flaming debris. We were now able to approach the scene of what had been but a few minutes before, a fashionable crush of gay and elegant people. On all sides were to be seen the bodies of poor women whom it had been impossible to help, some completely incinerated, others stretched on their backs with their arms extended as if appealing for help. In some cases, only the upper part of the body had been touched by the flames. Others were still burning, emitting a crackling sound. Our progress barred by the fire, we were unable to give these poor remains such care and attention as would at least have permitted the unfortunate relatives to identify them. End quote. There are conflicting accounts about how fast the firemen took to arrive. Some sources say they arrived within a very short amount of time. Others say it was about 15 minutes. But within 15 minutes the entire structure was burned out, the blood curdling Screams that filled the space only minutes before was now silent. Between 125 to 150 people were now dead, almost all women and girls. It was impossible to conceive just how quickly and horrifically so many people were swallowed up. People stood in abject grief and disbelief around the smoldering mass. The St. James Gazette described the scene once the fire had gone out as such. Quote, the ground was an open space between the neighboring houses, black and level, without a sign of its having contained any building whatever. There was no masonry left standing. And there were none of the iron girders twisted by the heat, nor the half burned oaken rafters which usually characterized the debris of a great fire. Almost everything had been reduced to ashes and even charred wood. Wood was rare. The only elevation which caught the eye along the sinister black space was a little heap of charred corpses near the entrance of the building. Here were shreds of women's dresses, here and there pieces, blackened shoes, and odds and ends of articles from the bazaar which had resisted the fire. But of the numberless bodies that still remained in their ashes, now silence. By the water poured upon them by the firemen, not one was recognizable. News spread quickly of the fire throughout Paris, and people came by the thousands to see if someone they knew got out okay. Some came simply to see the wreckage. Hundreds of carriages lined the streets along the river. By six o' clock in the evening, only four hours after the fire began, the streets were packed with anxious, grief stricken, sickened people, Some desperately trying to find answers, find if their loved ones were caught inside. But most bodies could only be identified by what remained of their clothing. Quickly and desperately, Parisians demanded answers. Who was to blame? How did this happen? How did the fire start? And who started it? It would be determined through investigations and later testimony that it was the cinematograph operator that accidentally started the blaze. He would testify that the oxygen theric lamp suddenly went out because it ran out of ether. He needed to refill it. But as he did, his assistant brought a match close so that he could see what he was doing. As they were in a darkened area behind curtains and the match lit the ether vapor in the air on fire. So the air itself caught fire and jumped to the curtains nearby. That in flames. Instantly, he said, he screamed, fire. But by then the fire was spreading so quickly there was nothing that could be done. As this answer would become clear, so would the many stories of abject cruelty and cowardice. There were a lot of women there that day, but there were plenty of men. There as well. Only they resoundingly were able to get out safely. Newspapers soon began printing survivor tales of how men used their canes to beat back women on their way to the door. A woman named Mrs. Von Denhenville told a reporter in the newspaper Leclair, quote, I saw men who seemed like raving lunatics and swung their walking sticks to carve a passage for themselves, end quote. Another man who escaped with his wife said, quote, my wife cannot complain about any man, nor can she credit them. Not one helped her escape. Women claimed to have been beaten by men inside, punched in the face and shoulders, pushed to the ground and kicked while they tried to force their way ahead to the exits. Some women claimed only to survive because they stood behind men that were pushing their way through the women. It was remarked in that article that men more often got out with their skin than with their honor. The stories of working class men and the clergy that stepped in to help were framed against stories of wealthy gentlemen pushing old ladies to the ground to save themselves. A class war of sorts was incited by the papers. A cab driver, a plumber, a roofer were all spotted running into the flames to help women, sometimes returning numerous times, dashing in and out of the flames. The conversation shifted away from the tragedy of so many women lost and men as well. About a dozen men also perished in the flames, but to the perception of men and what their role in society meant, what masculinity means, and what the class of men says about their moral character. The common notion of the day was that wealthy men or upper class men were the moral superiors of the lower classes, the cooks, the cab drivers. Class was particularly seen as a rigid means of defining the quality of character. So this highlighting that the presumably good men did not help. They saved only themselves, with a few exceptions, to set off a political and social storm of commentary from the papers to the churches. Some papers rebuked calls for a national day of mourning, asking, why is it that only when wealthy aristocratic ladies die, they feel a sense of national solidarity and mourning? While the poor were dying in mine accidents and other industrial accidents fairly regularly, Georges Clemenceau, the future president of France, caught the wave of praising the working class men who risked their lives to save save others, saying, quote, see these proper young gentlemen hitting panicked women with their canes, with their boots, only to cowardly run from peril. See these servant rescuers, See these workers come by chance, heroically risking their lives, like the plumber Piquet, who saved 20 fellow humans and fully burnt himself, returned to his workshop without saying a word. Meditate on that if you can last represent representatives of the degenerate castes and the bourgeois rulers of the class spirit. End quote. All throughout the 19th century, many thought leaders in France, like today in the United States and elsewhere, rallied against the wealthy and their privileges. Many wanted to dismantle the models of aristocracy. The conservative, pro aristocracy press focused on other things about the tragedy, like our CBS and Fox type press. Actually, let's be honest, all of our quote unquote news is state media now. Everything is owned by our aristocracy that owns our politicians, et cetera. Back to it there. Conservative press focused on the victims and away from class related themes, but not in terms of who they were or their lives or families, but a thoughts and prayers style, remembrance, a let's put this to bed kind of air, in some cases describing these people as martyrs for France itself. Perhaps most appalling, there was a national funeral held at Notre Dame. And the preacher used the sermon as an opportunity to say essentially that this was what France gets for becoming more secular. He said, no doubt God wanted to deliver a terrible lesson to this arrogant century. France deserves this punishment for it abandoned and its traditions. This makes me want to throw up for so many reasons. He basically tried to turn these people into martyrs for the Catholic Church. Luckily, this got the preacher, Marie Joseph Olivier, fired from Notre Dame. It is hard to tell if indeed the behavior of rich men versus not so rich men was so different because papers tended to only print quotes from survivors that fit whatever narrative they were trying to make of about the entire event. There is no real evidence to prove that the class of men determined how he acted. There are even more cases of men helping and many, many more of women helping. Running back into the flames to save others, sacrificing themselves to save others. But that detail got left out of many conversations. This event does not simply fit into any narrative. Despite the press's best efforts. At first, blame was directed toward Mr. Blount, the lead organizer of the event, a wealthy man. One report said that they saw him beating women back with his cane to the exits. But so many more survivors came forward to paint a completely different picture. Not only did he not try to beat anyone with his cane at first, he tried to keep people calm so that they wouldn't run to the exits. But the place went up so fast that people just panicked and he was carried away by the rush, bruising his wrist ribs terribly. He was seen standing to one side of the steps holding open fabric to let people leave before he did. When all at once the heavy fabric already burning came crashing down onto him. He was swept off his feet and thrown down the steps while other people tried to pull the burning fabric off of him. He then took off his coat to extinguish the fire in the hair of ladies surrounding him. Once the firemen arrived, he ran to help them with the hoses while suffering from burns himself. That story didn't fit nicely into anyone's narrative. Those who were looking for who to blame three people would face charges of homicide and negligence. The first person charged was the president of the Charity Bazaar Committee, the Baron of Maau, a well known society man, a politician, a member of the Conservative Party who held positions in the Ministry of Church Justice. This man was believed to be at fault because he was, quote, guilty of negligence and imprudence in not having asked for firemen and for having so small staff of men to guard such an inflammable building. And he was found guilty, but not sentenced to any prison. He was charged 500 francs, which was about four grand in today's currency. Also charged were the cinematograph operator and his assistant. Assistant who one could only imagine the guilt, a simple mistake. How do you live with yourself after that? It just breaks my heart so thoroughly. The operator was charged 300 francs and sentenced to a year in prison. His assistant was sentenced to eight months and fined 200 francs. Both of the men served no time because survivors testified on their behalf that they showed great acts of heroism. They didn't want run. They did what they could to warn the others and direct people away from the blaze. A specific law for accidental offenders was applied in this case. It was called the Barringer First Offender Law. It prohibited accidental offenders from being imprisoned if they attempt to help after an accident. They were, however, released on probation. There were of course, numerous factors that led to the spread of the fire that had nothing to do with the cinematograph operators. The highly flammable canvas that was draped over the the top, insufficient water was piped in, the exits were not clearly marked and several of the doors opened inwards. It just gets worse and worse. So people couldn't even open the doors. They were being crushed up against them. And of course you can always leave it to the Victorians to run as fast as their little legs could carry them to the auction of half destruction destroyed objects that were found in the rubble, pieces of rings, necklaces with broken pearls, bits of parasol handles and combs went fast. Brokers, the real serious bidders, were visibly angry, shaking their little fists when it became Known that the book signed with the guests of the bazaar was not going to be auctioned off, but destroyed out of respect. The most gruesome object of all to be sold was an earring that still had a bit of charred ear attached. It is astounding that they destroyed the signature book out of respect, but this was sold. It went for 925 francs. So now let's discuss what many of the papers of the day did not discuss. Who were some of the victims of the fire? Of course, the names of well known socialites, duchesses and other royal royalty were mentioned. But we now know details about them and others that they didn't know yet, as many of the details about them wouldn't come out until the trial or after, when the public wasn't as invested in the story. Sophie Shalott of Bavaria, the Duchess of Ellenson, perhaps the most well known lady who was a patron of the bazaar for years. She came with a few servants and insisted on staying in the fire till she found found all of them or knew that they had all made their way out. They all did make it out, but she did not. Elsa Blonska, a Russian immigrant and librarian. She had been working in a stall raising money for the blind. She would be buried in Montparnasse cemetery. Therese Donan, Baroness St Didier, attended the bazaar to assist her husband's aunt. After being rescued, she re entered the building thinking her name niece, Mademoiselle Cargol, was still inside. She was not. I put a picture of her tomb on the Instagram. It is amazing. There is a full statue of her knocking on her own mausoleum door with beautiful lace work in stone. She holds a wreath which represented victory over death. It also symbolized eternal remembrance. Dr. Henriques. He was a dermatologist. He visited the bazaar with his wife and 10 year old daughter and their maid. They became separated in the stampede. The doctor was able to escape, but like so many others, he ran back in to try to save his family. His wife was the only one to escape, but she would suffer terrible burns. She did survive though. Genevieve Blanche Groser, the wife of industrialist a Chile shop. She worked alongside her husband in their business. She was tasked with managing the company accounts and caring for employee welfare for 300 workers she was visiting as a customer. She did not make it out. Jean de Kergol was described as a tall, buxom, strong woman. And she remained inside the building as it burned, helping to give others a leg up out of a high window until the floor gave way. I put a beautiful Beautiful painting of her on the Instagram as well. Bodies were taken to the Palais des Industrie a block away. They were laid out for friends and family to come do their best to help identify the bodies, Though many of them simply could not be identified. Some would only be identified by the buckles on their shoes, orthopedic corsets, their teeth fillings. Many of the survivors were children, now unattended because their parents were inside. The little girl, girl that I mentioned briefly. Her name was Fabienne Boullie, who had the burned hair that was put out by a kind man with his bare hands. This little girl sat alone at a cafe for hours, watching the chaos, the terrible event unfold around her. Her guardian never escaped. A woman, seeing her in the cafe, asked if she would come to the place where the victims were to stand outside. Perhaps someone would come looking for her there. How horrible. But that would be the best place to go. She was led by her hand to the building. And there, as she approached, her father saw her. She ran to him, leapt into his arms. He had hoped against all hope that he would find her. She would go on to give a radio interview 59 years later, in 1956, explaining the tragic day. Her account is rare. There are so many, so few witness accounts of that day, just newspaper interpretations and quotes. The funeral for the victims at Notre Dame wasn't just the horrible, offensive, accusatory sermon by the priest. I was able to find the speech of the Minister of the Interior, Louis Barthou, who was asked to speak at the service. This is a translation from the original French. A few excerpts, not the full speech, he said, said, never was death more unjustly cruel. And before the work of destruction it accomplished with such terrible swiftness, every heart was seized by the same shudder of horror and compassion. Death, brutal and unthinking, suddenly interrupted a celebration of benevolence. And the victims whom it struck down fell upon the field of honor, of charity. It was for the poor, for those whom nature had afflicted, for those whom life had dispossessed, that the elite of a wealthy, elegant and fortunate society had gathered to support hospitals, to establish schools and aid the wounded, to raise young apprentices and working girls in orphanages and charitable institutions, to give the happiness and rewards of an honorable trade, to blind children who are among the most unfortunate amid so many terrible miseries and through work, to assist and raise up those whose good intentions had been defeated by discouragement and helplessness. It was amid pride in the good already accomplished and hope for the suffering, yet to be relieved that the scourge was unleashed. May those who survive in the loneliness of mourning, struck in their deepest affections, separated from those who had been the charm, the joy, or the hope of their lives, find at least this consolation that their beloved dead perished as victims of their own goodness, and in the exercise of that duty is also the noblest and gentlest of human duties. May the memory of those women we mourn remain inseparable from the memory of the goodness that brought them together and the courage that tried to save them. If you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate the show on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Leave me comments because I love them so much and for ad free listening, True Crime Extras, dark poetry and witchy content. Join the patreon@myvictoriannightmare.com Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.