Rue Berthe

Nestled on the slopes of Montmartre, Rue Berthe whispers tales of a bygone era. Rue Berthe isn’t grand or ostentatious. It’s a quiet street, a humble 200 meters long and a mere 7.3 meters wide, beginning at Rue Drevet and ending at Place Émile-Goudeau and Rue Ravignan. This unassuming street offers a glimpse into 19th-century Montmartre, with its modest buildings and narrow, sun-dappled passageways. Rue Berthe began its life in 1840, part of the development of land once belonging to the Montmartre Abbey. Initially, it was a section of Rue du Poirier, named for a magnificent pear tree gracing the gardens of the “Poirier sans Pareil” tavern on Rue Ravignan. The eastern part of Rue Berthe, between Rue Drevet and Rue Foyatier, was later renamed Rue André Barsacq in 1978. However, the original numbering of Rue Berthe remains, starting at number 18, even with the name change. One of the most intriguing stories connected to Rue Berthe involves number 20. This unassuming building, constructed in 1882 as a painter’s studio, housed Montmartre’s first cabaret for cross-dressers, “La Petite Chaumière”, in 1922. This intimate venue, with its two small rooms, provided a space for close encounters and vibrant performances. The cabaret was run by “Monsieur Tagada,” a fittingly flamboyant name, and featured a zebra with the poetic name “Zigouigoui”. It was here that Gaston Baheux, known as “Tonton,” began his career in entertainment. He later bought the Liberty’s at Place Blanche, which became a hot spot for Parisian celebrities. Rue Berthe even boasts a connection to the iconic painter Camille Pissarro, who had a small studio at number 21. Today, however, that building is part of Rue André Barsacq. Rue Berthe’s modest buildings, many dating back to the first half of the 19th century, offer a window into a time before Montmartre’s legendary status. It was a suburb where workers and struggling artists found affordable housing. Today, Rue Berthe stands as a quiet testament to Montmartre’s humble beginnings, a street “where one passes through”, as the singer Berthe Sylva might have described it.