A Room to Swing a Cat In is a short story inspired by the history behind the house of Nicolas Flamel, 51 rue de Montmorency, the 3rd arrondissement of Paris, while its majestic doors represent my weekly contribution to Thursday Doors.
A Room to Swing a Cat In
What the plague hadn’t claimed was gathered on the streets of Paris for the fête of Sainte-Geneviève. Parades, farces, mocking jokes, they were all washed down with copious amounts of weak wine.
You either have the guts to do it or not.
So he did it. When the crowds broke in laughter his hand was elbow-deep in his surcoat, the parcel secured. Then he ran, the laden weight of a low Parisian sky hanging over his shoulders and him, a moving dot in a monochrome city.
He darted through a passage, away from their cheers, jumping sideways at the call of the chamber pot, slowing down past les gendarms whose hand always fell heavy on his kind of folk. His mother’s kind. Dark, with luscious hair, the keepers of the laughter and of the magic. He was proud of her gift for reading people and foretelling their future. ‘One God,’ she’d taught him, ‘for everybody.’
Yet not all were equal. And God was up. They were in the sewer.
The drizzle hitting his face forced him to bury his head between his skinny shoulders and look down when he reached the church of St Merri, that fed him now. It was the rain wetting his face, not his shame. The rain that also stung his eyes. So he picked up the pace, feeling only his heart hammering in his jacket.
He broke his run near the open market to check inside his coat, sliding on the slippery stones and bumping into a merchant yelling away his ware. His nose crushed into the fishmonger’s raw hand, yet the smell of burning wood glued to his nostrils blocked the stench. The torrent of curses fell on his ribs, but for once he didn’t care, his eyes jabbing inside his coat for a sign of life.
He licked the pink, hairless nose the way he saw its mother doing it. Two perfectly round eyes opened up on him. Hope.
So the remainder of the road he ran, he ran till he reached the tall house that bent over the road, in protection. He ran up the two flights of stairs with their many doors that sheltered the homeless, like them. He ran all the way to their tiny room at the mansard. Cozy, his mother would correct him with a laugh.
There, he stood in the only open spot and removed the kitten out of his bosom. It made a noise like a whisper and opened its round eyes on him again. The boy’s dark face lit up in a smile as big as a heart, revealing a few missing teeth. His mother will be so proud. He spun around three times like she’d taught him, making sure the cat was secure in his arms. He spun around to swing the cat for they had a room to swing a cat in. To keep it, as the gypsy believe said to do if one wanted to keep a cat.
In his father’s home, there were plenty rooms where he could swing a cat in. But an executioner’s son was not allowed to own a cat, what was allowed was to inherit his father’s job.
© Patricia Furstenberg, 2001, All Rights Reserved.
A note from the author:
The House of Nicolas Flamel:
The House of Nicolas Flamel appeared on our Paris itinerary due to our daughter’s extraordinary interest in the world of Harry Potter.
About the house itself: Nicolas Flamel had the house built after his wife Pernelle passed away in 1397. The house (as well as several others owned by Flamel) did accommodate the homeless of Paris, or at least a part of them. Yet this is the only one still standing. The frieze above the ground floor dates from 1407, when the house was completed:
“Nous homes et femes laboureurs demourans ou porche de ceste maison qui fu fte en lan de grace mil quatre cens et sept, somes tenus chacun en droit soy dire tous les jours une patrenostre et 1 ave maria en priant dieu que sa grace face pardon aux povres pescheurs trespassez. amen.”
“We men and women labourers residing in the entryway of this house, which was built in the year 1407, vow to recite each day Our Father who Art in Heaven and Ave Maria, praying to God by whose grace accords pardon to those poor sinners (who) trespass. Amen.”
Yet Nicolas Flamel never lived here, in what is today the oldest house in Paris.
Update 🙂 I used a 14th century map of Paris to locate the House of Nicolas Flamel and trace the boy’s route:
1 – “gathered on the streets of Paris for the fête of Sainte-Geneviève”
La Greve = today Hotel de Ville
2 – “he darted through a passage”
3 – “jumping sideways at the call of the chamber pot”
4 – “the church of Saint Merri that fed him now…”
5 – a two minutes walk to the House of Nicolas Flamel, heading NE.
The day of Saints-Geneviève:
During the Middle Ages, the Parisians had quite a full calendar, abundant in holidays and events that were enthusiastically celebrated, perhaps because of the precarious lives of the ordinary populace. Thus, The day of Saints-Geneviève, the patron saint of the city who allegedly saved that city from the Huns was and still is celebrated on the 3rd of January.
The origin of the saying “there was not room to swing a cat in it”:
There is a superstition in Transylvania, perhaps brought about by the gypsies whose specialty was to bear the seeds of magic and spread them about here and there, as the winds do to those of plants… In this province of Romania it is said that if a cat runs away, when recovered it must be swung around three times to attach it to the dwelling.
The same is done to a stolen cat by the thief himself, if he plans to keep it. This is a rather strange way to induce an attachment to any animal, but perhaps from the point of view of the professional cat-stealer the size of his room is a matter of greater importance.
On the Executioners Who Inherited Their Jobs
Truth be told, for centuries in France execution was a family matter and the job of an executioner was passed on from father to son.
~~~
Thursday Doors is a blog feature everyone can take part in, hosted by Dan Antion over at No Facilities – discover more doors from around the world.
Wow, so much to take in here. I’ve learned a few new things today. Have never heard the ‘swing the cat’ saying, not quite the way to endear your pet to oneself but many of the quirky sayings such as this don’t really translate to us today. And very interesting backstory on this building that holds the door you feature. Your short story envelopes it well. Happy Thursday to you!
Thank you so much, Denny 🙂 I am glad to hear that you enjoyed my short story.
I had so much fun writing it. I wanted to use this specific door so I went to refresh my memory on Nicolas Flamel’s house.
I wanted to have a crowd in the beginning. First thought was a public execution, but I didn’t wanted to go that dark. It was now that I learned about the executioners who inherited their jobs… Some old notes of mine on ‘a room to swing a cat in’ and gypsies from Transylvania also came in handy 🙂
Thrilled with your observations. A happy weekend to you!
You as well Pat.
This sounds right up my alley, thanks for posting.
Ah, you have no idea how much this means to me, Martie 🙂
Thank you!
This is a well written and interesting story, Pat. I felt like I was watching the scene on the street. I also appreciate the added information.
thanks for entertaining us.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read it, Dan. I still have to visit the other Thursday Doors bloggers.There is always such a wealth of information around doors 🙂
I updated the post with a 14th century map of Paris – the one I used to trace the boy’s route along and the House of Nicolas Flamel, as it was located back then 🙂
That’s cool. I’ll take a look when I get to a larger screen.
An excellent write……. I was in Paris that same January day, your writing made it so vivid.
You’ve made my day, Daniel. Thank you so much!!
Paris is worth visiting any day of the year, isn’t it? Not sure if any century, though 😉
Who on Earth steals a cat?! 🙂 And if one does steal a cat I hope the cat claws him while he swings the cat around. 😀
True, and I for one am cautious around felines. Always wait for them to invite me closer.
Yet the boy wanted a pet to love. Nothing more. The reason why his mother took him away from a safe household, his father’s, the executioner.
And this was a kitten the lad held gently in his arms while turning around the room three times.
All he wanted was a cat to love.
(And not to inherit his father’s job).
Thank you, Jo 😉
Wait! My comment was triggered by the fragment in which you explain the origin of the saying “there was not room to swing a cat in it”. The little boy’s story touched me. Especially the way he licked the cat’s nose. I thought he was a kind boy. So you say he stole the cat?
I think that the entire idea behind that saying is that only a very poor chap would steal a cat (to sell it?), yet he would live in such shabby conditions that he wouldn’t even afford the space to swing the cat, in order to keep it (not that this was his plan).
Keep in mind that this saying is part of a gypsy myth from medieval Transylvania.
Yes, the boy steals the cat right at the beginning of the story. If he steals it from someone or just picks it up from an abandoned litter – it doesn’t matter. He took it, thinking he stole it.
It’s hard to insert as much information as you have in this very short story without making it sound like an essay. You, however, must have some gypsy magic of your own: Everything works together to make a vivid and emotional whole. <3
Goodness, Marian, thank you!
I’ll have to ask my Mom about that gypsy magic. Ha ha! Not that I would mind.
I enjoyed myself tremendously writing this little story. And I do think that the boy deserves more word mileage 😉
Thank you for visiting, Marian.
Most definitely he has a good heart. It would have been cool to know more about him and his new friend… the reaction of the mother when she finds out about the cat. 🙂
Pat, The door and windows look beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story with the map and superstition info. Well done ! #ThursdayDoors
Thank you, Natalie 🙂
I like the reference to Harry Potter. The house and door look solid, despite the age. I live in Canada, where the oldests buildings date back to only two to three hundred years . . . I have never been inside a building this old! One question, were the sons of executioners who refused to take over the family business . . . executed? :0
Glad you do 🙂 we planned the entire day around this place – because of Harry!
We’ve never been inside though, it was early and the restaurant that operates from there was still closed.
The executioner’s son, I shudder to think. I don’t suppose they stood a chance – either take it or run for your life.
Canada might not be so old, but you have Mother Nature there 🙂 There is so much lovely talk of Canada in Kathy Reichs’ books 🙂
Thank you for visiting, Mark.
A great story, Pat, and the history/origin of “swing the cat” is interesting. I love learning about the history of idioms like this. I hadn’t heard of the saying before. A fascinating post. 🙂
Happy to hear this, Diana. Something we share, then 😉 Thank you!
Thank you, Patricia, for sharing this interesting door and story. I had no idea this is how that particular saying originated and I’ve heard it said all my life. Happy New Year.
Great pleasure, Roberta.
A Happy New Year to you too 🙂
I congratulate you on this lovely blog and these interesting articles.
paintdigi.com
Thank you so very much!!
welcome dear Pat
Nice !!!
Thank you 🙂