Going, Going, Gone!

Quite innocently last year I walked in through the service entrance of Galéries Drouot, Paris’ principal auction house. I must have looked like I belonged as no one said a word. For about an hour I had the run of the place and even managed to leave a few bids.

This spring, however, that entry was more tightly watched, so I had to swarm in with the rest of the foule (300 perhaps) at precisely 11 a.m. Drouot is the everyman’s Sotheby’s. With 16 rooms over three floors, there’s always something on the block for every taste and budget. My latest inspection revealed rare books, paintings, butterflies and bugs, airplane models, 19^th century furniture, all manner of silver, jewelry, hunting prints, black and white photographs of 1950s Hollywood, bibelots, and curios.

Occasionally, when the room gets a little sleepy, you can buy right. However, bargains are tempered by a buyer’s premium of almost 20 percent.

Drouot is a wonderfully democratic institution as the auctioneers or maître priseurs are all independents. These experts have their own “studies” but organize their auctions through the auction house, sort of like doctors with hospital privileges. All told, there are 71 of these independents.

The bidding is usually fast and furious and all in French, of course, so best stay alert. When the auctioneer stands at his/her lectern and looks down at you imperiously through a pair of pince-nez, brings down a long, thin-handled gavel and says the word “jugé,” not a bad idea to have some euros in your pocket.

Bonne chance,