Picture it. Marseille 2023. You are a tourist, new to Marseille. Stumbling around the Chutes-Lavie area (4th arrondisement) trying to find your AirBnB (for shame, and yet…). You are jet-lagged and the streets uneven and tilted. The strap of your heavy bag cuts into your shoulder with each step. The wheels on your baggage petulantly squeal in reprimand as you bump along the sidewalk.
Your Uber driver (for shame, and yet…), stuck behind a minor car accident which has escalated into a neighbourhood gathering on the road, had told you (loudly & repeatedly) to go right then left at a roundabout. Well, that’s what you think he said – there was escalating yelling as you were yanking your luggage out of his car. Also, your elementary school French sucks.
Google-Map Lost
You stop, try to get your bearings, earnestly scrutinizing Google Maps (for shame, and yet…), trying to find your lodgings for the next three days. You look up and realize (ah, crap) that the sun has begun to set. Not yet panicking, but rapidly approaching that dangerous merger of frustration, fear, and hanger (verb, from the adjective hangry). You are nearing melt down. There may be tears.
Scanning, scanning, scanning, you finally find a street name.Why are the tiny signs on the buildings at each corner? Why such tiny text?.
Must find. This street name. On the map. Must. Aha, found it. Success.
All Who Wander Are Not Lost
You quickly plot your route, your brain now in survival mode. You begin walking again, on high alert. Slightly stumbling along the higgledy-piggledy sidewalk, toward the setting sun, your cell phone held in front of you like a divining rod. It suddenly vibrates and beeps. You almost drop it.
Your pedometer app flashes out its congratulations – you’ve reached your daily step goal. Hooray. You sigh. But then it happens: A flash of gold catches you in the peripheral vision. You turn to see where the flash is coming from. Yowza.
Ta-Da
Long rays of the setting sun bouncing off red and yellow stone and onto your retinas. A glass octagon sparkling atop an elegant tower amidst dowdy apartment buildings and car boutiques. A chateau, a castle, a defensive fort? One of those bastides your Uncle drones on and on about at every chance? A strangely marooned lighthouse?
You snap a pic and do a reverse search. But no, what Wikipedia (for shame, and yet…) tells you about this building is far more exotic and alluring to your North American sensibilities. Not a frivolous castle, but something once utilitarian and now abandoned. It is the Pavillon de Partages des Eaux, aka Le Tore, aka Le Siphone.
Factoid Alert
Built between 1894 and 1906, this was where the fresh waters arrived via the Canal de Marseille to be redirected using a siphoning method, to the northern parts of the city. In particular, water was diverted from here to Sainte Marthe, to a reservoir and for the steam trains that connected Marseille to Paris via Lyon (Ligne PLM).
And there you stand, mouth agape, gawking at this building – the Marseillaizzzzz walking around you, bemused at your wonder.
You have just stumbled upon a historical monument while minding your own business: The Water Sharing Pavilion.
Next stop, your AirBnB, which has six corkscrews, a heated towel rack, and a tiny balcony that overlooks the Palais Longchamp’s Funny Zoo and Park. All made possible because of the Canal de Marseille. As ever, in Marseille, all things are connected.
“Potable drinking water was reduced from 75 liters to 1 liter/person/day.”
A Recap of Our Story So Far…
We continue our fictional-historical exploration of how Marseille came to have good water quality, leading to its wonderful network of public potable water taps.
We began in Part 1 with your personal and traumatic discovery of the miraculous powers of the public water tap on a hawt hawt day during a canicule (heat wave) in Marseille.
Next, in Part 2, we explored Marseille’s geographical setting and its OG natural water sources, the Jarret and the Huveaune. The latter connected by Provençal tradition to Mary Magdalene. Part 2 was also chock-a-block with legends, historical truths, and a fictionalized meet and greet between you (Chef LaGrande), Mary Magdalene (aka The Madelaine), and two choruses (à la Greek comedy – a harkening back to Marseille’s Greek origins).
Let Part 3 Begin
At last, here in Part 3 we begin to follow the lead up to and the development of the Canal de Marseille (CdM)*, which would bring consistent, fresh, and safe drinking water to the city.
*Unnecessary acronyms (UNNAN) are required in France and so we are doing our best to contribute to the overpopulation of UNNAN
The number one (public) reason that the CdM was built was because of diarrhea – though in actual fact it’s more likely the number two reason. Pun intended.
The CdM’s Catalyst
As you may recall from Part 2, the main fresh water sources of Marseille were the River Huveaune, and the now mostly subterranean, Jarret. The Huveaune, after being wrested from the control of the cantankerous and capricious Druidian river spirit, Ubelka, and/or created by “cry me a river” Mary Magdalene, during her retirement in Sainte-Baume, was canalised in the 14th Century but quickly became an open sewer.
“Vibrio cholera list its favourite things as walks on the beach, holding hands, and places that have unsafe drinking water, poor sanitation, and poverty.”
Too polluted to drink, not great for doing laundry, icky for agriculture and industries, bad for the animals, wild and domestic. Sanitary conditions were not good, very bad, awful. There was a distinctive pong to the populace and the place – that certain Eau d’Oh God!, so hard to forget. Yet the city grew in density and population from the 17th Century on, adding to the problem.
And as today, there was animal and human crap on the streets. And crap lead to more crap, all draining into water sources. There was sewage in the main water source and that’s never a good thing.
In addition, in 1834, the Huveaune dried up. Potable drinking water was reduced from 75 liters to 1 liter/person/day in Marseille. (Ideally, everyone has 100 liters/day so even in a good year, it kind of sucked.) Shortly afterwards, the Blue Death came calling and the city was (figuratively) out of pq (English translation: tp*).
*We at pqmarseille enjoy this rude joke, and, really, when you think about, everybody was mad for toilet paper not so long ago.
Ding Dong, Cholera Calling
Enter the villain, a wee contagious bacterium called Vibrio cholera that only a human can love/host. When it gets into water or food through human poop, it spreads quickly to other humans, infecting the small intestines. Bada-boom, bada-bing you get hit by a tsunami of diarrhea, sometimes with an unending tidal wave of barf. Dehydration, which can bring out the cyans and cobalts – in your skin – and electrolyte imbalances, quickly follows. Ah yes, the Blue Death.
Epidemic Timeline for Marseille in the 19th Century (Scholarly Stuff Y’All)
English Legend: Variole = small pox; typhus = typhoid; choléra = cholera; rougeole= measles; diphtérie = diphtheria; grippe = flu
Depending on the variety of cholera bacteria you get, you can die within a day of hatching out the bugs.
Vibrio cholera list its favourite things as walks on the beach, holding hands, and places that have unsafe drinking water, poor sanitation, and poverty. Know of any place like that?
The Time and Place
So, like the Avon Lady of the 1970s, cholera came calling throughout France and hit Provençe in 1832. During the 1834 drought, the Huveaune dried up, reducing the amount of clean fresh water available to the people of Marseille. That meant people were rationing water– cleaning less, washing clothes less, bathing less, etc.
Some sources say that cholera hit Marseille first in 1834. However, others report that the first cases of cholera in Marseille occurred in December of 1835. At the same time in 1835, because of winter rains, both the Jarret and the Huveaune overflowed their banks, spewing sewage back into the streets and nearby lands.
Death Tolls & Disagreement
Two waves of cholera hit the city in 1835. The first wave had a mortality rate of 48.6%. That’s 3,441 deaths recorded of those diagnosed. Cholera burial pits were dug. Sadly but not unexpectedly, there was no agreement on how the disease was spread – the popular theory was that it was airborne.
The city decided to open up health offices throughout the city. Which freaked folks out: An estimated 10,000-12,000 people packed up their stuff and left Marseille and its surrounds.
Bring in the Virgin
The political machine swung into gear, ordering nearby basins dredged, a street sanitation department set up, and charities and workshops opened. The Marseillais/Marseillians (?) demanded some divine intervention. They called for the statue of the Virgin Mary to be paraded through the streets and kept in the Notre Dame de la Garde cathedral* for 8 days. “Only” 865 cholera deaths were recorded at this point. Things calmed down.
*Note that the statue was not housed in the Notre Dame de la Garde basilica that we see today as it was built later in 1853. Rather it would have been housed in the basilica’s precursor, which was a 13th Century church built on the same site as today’s la Bonne Mère (a fond nickname for the basilica) on the highest point in the Vieux-Port area.
Another Knock on the Door
But then there was an outbreak in nearby Toulon and many fled to Marseille. Hotels filled up, people were forced to camp in the streets around the Vieux-Port. By early July 1835, people in Marseille started dying from cholera again. And again, people fled Marseille, heading into the massifs, camping on the beaches, and in the grounds of bastides (those Provençal country houses of the rich). One estimate suggests 25,000 people left in one day alone.
Eventually, the city ran out of coffins and there was no room in the cemeteries. Old, closed ones were reopened. New ones created. The guys working on the basin dredging were reassigned to dig burial pits.
The Virgin made another tour of the city. But by the end of this wave, 2776/5000 (or 55.5%) of known cholera patients were dead.
Still, there was dispute as to how cholera was spread.
Paris Warns, “Beware the Electric Fluid”
Officials in Marseille pointed out that more people had died in densely populated areas (i.e., the poorer areas) than in sparsely populated ones (i.e., the richer areas). And therefore, that cholera was contagious. But the leading brainiacs informing policy makers at the federal level (i.e., in Paris) disagreed, claiming that cholera was the result of “electric fluid”.
This of course affected the political and health decisions made throughout France. It would take five more years before it was officially acknowledged in France, that cholera is the result of water-born contamination.
In the end, there were 10 waves of cholera in Marseille, resulting in 18,000 deaths.
The Aftermath of the First Cholera Epidemics
Once it became clear that contaminated water sources caused cholera epidemics, there was a political will to look for a solution to Marseille’s water problem.
On top of that, the growing city of Marseille needed a more reliable, secure, and clean water source for its citizens.
And perhaps more (politically) importantly, the growing industries in Marseille – soap factories, but also sugar and tobacco refineries, processors of lead, soda, and sulphur, and glass making – now needed water sources for their steam-powered machinery, steam-power technology having become readily available around 1818.
Not everyone was on board with industrialization. Not surprisingly, there was violent opposition to the introduction of steam power in Marseille between 1828 and 1844.
And hand-in-hand with the growth of industrial activity was the need to move it around France – again, enter the steam engine powering locomotive and new train lines. This includes the aforementioned Ligne PLM – connecting Marseille-Lyon-Paris (or Paris-Lyon-Marseille if you are unfortunate enough to be from Paris).
Enter Player #1: Max Consolat (Mayor of MRS 1831-1843)
Maximin Dominique Consolat (Max DC to his friends, we speculate) was a successful merchant, having made his fortune working with his uncles in St Petersburg, Russia. Details are unclear but suffice to say, he wasn’t selling Haribo candy or OM t-shirts.
Max DC Comes to Marseille
After his Russian adventures, he settled in Marseille, married his cousin, Clotilde “Zoe” Maurel, and took up the position of Postmaster in 1830. Later that year he was appointed Deputy Mayor, but in 1831 the position of Mayor of Marseille opened up.
Like many of the mayors before him, he had business connections and acumen. His mayoral slogan was (again, speculation), “I will give everyone gas” (rough translation into French: “ça va vous donner des gaz”). He was, we guess, a wise and funny guy.
Of course, at that time there were no elections and he was simply appointed to the position by his cronies. Consolat made his mark in many ways: He was key in the creation of the Avenue Prado, the Porte d’Aix, the National Tunnel, and in getting streetlighting put in in various areas of Marseille to combat crime. Indeed, he ensured that there were gas streetlights on the main streets of Marseille by 1835. Despite Marseille’s long opposition to streetlighting. Ah, la Ville Rebelle, indeed.
Consolat vs Cholera
Most importantly, for our story, he was mayor during the first cholera epidemic. He and Zoe would eventually have 8 children but only three or four, lived to the ripe old age of 20. During the cholera epidemic, two of their young children died. Perhaps of cholera and perhaps compelling him to do what he did next.
In 1834, Consolat and his colleagues committed to finding a sustainable and stable water source of fresh, potable water for Marseille. Whatever the cost. The dream of the CdM was born and he was the one who put it into action.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t mayor when the CdM opened but he won the day: He still oversees the Palais Longchamp and today you can find his bust flanking the nymphaeum, a constructed grotto (more in Part 4).
And what an amazing feat the completion of the CdM was:
“Drawing its source near Pertuis, [the CdM] winds through the hills passing over the Roque-d’Anthéron to turn south under a long tunnel crossing the Chaîne des Côtes. It then crosses the valleys from Lambesc to Coudoux, Ventabren, then arrives above the Arc which it crosses by the aqueduct of Roquefavour arriving towards Aix-en-Provence and the plateau of Arbois. It then arrives at Pennes-Mirabeau and then crosses the Marseille border serving Saint-Antoine to go, finally, towards the Palais Longchamp.”
French source: https://toutma.fr/le-canal-de-marseille-de-la-durance-au-palais-longchamp
Enter Player #2: Montricher, the Very Civil, Civil Engineer
Consolat appointed the Swiss Monsieur Franz Mayor de Montricher – who, although his name was Mayor, was not the mayor – as the chief engineer for the CdM.
Dream Team: The Mayor & The Civil Engineer
Together, Consolat and Montricher shook things up.
Audaciously, they decided on a completely gravity fed system, they didn’t pick a local river – they chose a water source 85 km north-east of Marseille – and they chose Roman engineering for part of the construction.
Their water source of choice was the Durance River, which begins in the Cottian Alps (Alpes Cottiennes : French, and Alpi Cozie : Italian), part of the Western Alps on the French-Italian border.
So their plan in 1834 was to send alpine fresh water along the canal system to Marseille, partially via ancient Roman means. Because, who doesn’t love an aqueduct?
Break for a Video (in French)
Cliquez ci-dessous pour une excellente vidéo en français de l’histoire du Canal de Marseille (8.5 minutes).
The 15-Year Project
The project to bring clean water to Marseille was a feat of civil engineering for the time. The canal was 85 km long. They had to bypass the massifs that hug Marseille, they had to dig and fortify the subterranean parts of the canal (20 km of it), as well as construct the canal itself and the structures along the banks that protect it. And of course, they had to build aqueduct-bridges (18 in total) to carry the water across valleys.
The canal itself was constructed of concrete. Stone and brick were used for the aqueducts and other above ground structures. And while the direct line from Pertuis to Marseille is about 85 km, there are 100s of km of side canals.
Over 3000 workers were needed. Often working in terrain that was difficult and dangerous, using horses and simple tools.
In all, it took 15 years to build the entire canal (1839-1854), but it officially opened in 1849.
The CdM is uncovered in many less populated sections. On the left, in Parc Pastre and on the right, before flowing over the Roquefavour Aqueduct.
Ooooo, laaaaa. Aqueducts
The CdM aqueducts were based on the Roman architecture and engineering of the Pont du Gard, built in Nimes, France in 19 BCE.
The most famous CdM aqueduct is the Roquefavour Aqueduct, which crosses the Arc Valley. It was built in the Ventabren area between 1841 and 1847. It’s 393 meters (1,289 feet) long and transports the waters of the Durance River 82.65 meters (271 feet) above the valley floor. But the French, and their Swiss civil engineer, outdid the Romans: Roquefavour Aqueduct is the highest stone structure in the world and is almost twice as high as the Pont du Gard – a paltry 50 meters (164 feet) tall.
Side note: In 2017 it was possible to climb the cliffs beside the aqueduct and to picnic at the top with great views of the Ventabren area and the Arc Valley. But restoration work was planned even then and that might not be the case now. You really have to seize the day here as things change often and quickly.
Tarpin Cher : Super Expensive
And how much did this cost you ask. Well, sources say 10,000 French ancien francs, which converts to (value in grams of gold) 552,300 Euros in 2021. That’s right. Over half a million Euros.
But worth every penny to secure consistent and clean water for Marseille as well as many other communities along the canal. Sanitation and health conditions improved.
Public laundry houses were sources of better hygiene and communal gathering places.
As well, having a good fresh water source allowed for the creation of public spaces such as parks and zoos, improved agricultural yields, and fostered greater industrialization along the canal route as well as in Marseille. All, not unproblematic, but important elements in the history of Marseille in particular, and France in general.
And the Palais Longchamp complex with its museums, fountains, playgrounds, statues, zoo area, and park is the cherry on the top of the CdM project. A true celebration of the life-giving waters brought to Marseille. And we delve into all that lusciousness in Part 4 of our Water in Marseille series.
Fast Forward
Did we mention how complicated this all was? Which we love. But which overwhelms us. Which we hate. Love-Hate. Very Marseille.
And at last, we return to one of our favourite buildings in Marseille, the Pavillon de Partages, (mis)known in our house as the Lighthouse.
We first stumbled upon this building, as you did, as the sun was setting on the glass roof, and we were smitten.
It sits in a sea of 20C crappy apartments, overlooking the green spaces of the Palais Longchamp. Abandoned. Only visited by stray black cats curled up to nap in its weed-strewn courtyard. Anachronous. Out of place and time. Unexplained. Solid. Elegant with clean lines. A place of presence.
One day we hope to glimpse inside those doors and see what happens inside the silent building.
There are many of these buildings in Marseille. Gems you stumble upon that are parts of stories you don’t yet know.
And these stories so often unfold like blossoms – stories of the city, but also of the people. The workers that built the canals. Their cooks. Those who looked after the equipment and the horses. Those who dreamed of steam engines and connecting Marseille and Paris. The artistry and care: The beauty of the winding canal, the soaring arches of the aqueducts, the beacon-like profile of the Siphon, and the foresight and strong will of those who envisioned and then created what could be.
And this is why, pourquoi, Marseille is for us. Yowza.
