This year’s EADV (European Academy of Dermatology and Venereology) Congress was held in Paris. I attended part of the meeting, but otherwise spent most of my time exploring the city. What follows is a small account of those wanderings.
The congress venue was the Palais des Congrès de Paris, a large international convention center located on Avenue des Champs-Élysées, just a short distance from the Arc de Triomphe and directly in front of Porte Maillot Metro Station.
Stepping outside the bustling conference center and crossing the boulevard, I found myself at the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. As I walked farther in, I encountered groups of schoolchildren who appeared to be on field trips and numerous runners enjoying the park. Continuing deeper into the woods, however, the crowds disappeared. Soon only narrow trails remained, and I found myself completely alone.
The quiet atmosphere and the sense of being immersed in nature were remarkable. As someone who enjoys mountain walking, I was amazed that such a place could exist so close to one of the world’s great cities. Yet when an occasional cyclist or passerby suddenly appeared, I felt a slight tension. Some of the more secluded trails may not be ideal for solitary walks. I was told that the area can feel rather intimidating after dark.
Eventually I emerged onto a broad avenue running alongside a lake. The pleasant road stretches southward toward the Longchamp Racecourse and the Roland-Garros tennis complex. Although the forest contains several beautiful gardens, I passed them by. Along the way, the riverside paths were spacious and lined with trees, frequented by joggers and strollers alike. It was a delightful setting. After nearly two hours of walking to the racecourse, however, fatigue began to set in, and rather than walk all the way back to the Metro, I took a taxi.
One of the special events offered during the congress was a guided tour of the Department of Dermatology at Saint-Louis Hospital, led by Professor Martine Bagot. The program included an introduction to the hospital, a visit to the Musée des Moulages, and even a cocktail reception. Intrigued, I applied, only to receive an email informing me that the tour was fully booked and that I had not been selected.
Having traveled all the way from Japan, I was reluctant to give up. I contacted the organizers and explained how much I wished to visit. A few days later, I received confirmation that a reservation had been arranged. Thus, on the appointed day, I made my way to Saint-Louis Hospital.
I had long heard of Saint-Louis Hospital from many senior dermatologists, including the late Professor Okamoto of Chiba University. My desire to visit became even stronger after reading Classics of French Dermatology Learned from the Original Literature, a volume compiled by Professor Kei Iwatsuki and colleagues at Okayama University. The late Professor Jiro Arata, Emeritus Professor of Okayama University, had also studied at Saint-Louis Hospital, reflecting the long-standing relationship between the institution and Japanese dermatology.
I was instructed to arrive at 10 a.m. The Musée des Moulages occupies a quiet corner of the hospital grounds. The entrance was difficult to find, and after asking for directions I entered through what turned out to be a rear entrance. A kind female staff member escorted me to the proper front entrance.
When I rang the bell, a middle-aged attendant welcomed me warmly. He appeared to speak little English, but he kindly escorted me upstairs to the moulage collection. I was told that I was free to explore at my leisure, although photography was prohibited.
For several hours I had the galleries entirely to myself. There was no formal explanation and no welcome cocktail, yet the experience was all the more rewarding for its solitude. It became a rare and deeply personal encounter with dermatological history.
A moulage is a wax model of a skin disease. These meticulously colored reproductions are astonishingly lifelike, creating the impression that living patients stand before the viewer. The walls are lined alphabetically with representations of countless dermatological disorders, including many conditions first described and named by the great masters of French dermatology.
The collection occupies both the ground and upper floors of a lecture hall, with the upper level arranged as a gallery surrounding the central space. In total, 162 display cases contain hundreds of moulages. Among them are numerous examples of diseases now rarely encountered, such as congenital syphilis, tertiary syphilis, chancroid, leprosy, and cutaneous tuberculosis.
Professor Iwatsuki selected fifteen diseases and twelve authors from among these classical works. He consulted the original publications preserved in the Saint-Louis Hospital Library, obtained copies, and translated them into Japanese. The translations were undertaken by Dr. Noboru Okuma, who had studied under Professor Civatte and later attended the Sorbonne.
Every dermatologist is familiar with the eponymous diseases that form part of our education. Names such as Devergie, Gibert, Bazin, Fournier, Darier, Brocq, Vidal, Besnier, Hallopeau, Sézary, and Degos appear throughout the museum, accompanied by moulages and descriptions of the conditions they identified.
What impressed me most was the intellectual energy reflected in these works. More than a century ago, before the advent of electron microscopy and before modern immunology, bacteriology, and histopathology had matured, these physicians sought relentlessly to uncover the causes of disease. The precision of their clinical observations and dermatological descriptions remains astonishing.
It is true that Japanese dermatology developed primarily under the influence of the German school, beginning with Keizo Dohi. French dermatology may therefore seem somewhat peripheral from a Japanese perspective. Yet a visit to Saint-Louis Hospital makes clear how powerful and influential French dermatology was during its formative years.
Indeed, Saint-Louis Hospital was the birthplace of the moulage tradition itself. The German and Austrian schools studied the moulages produced at Saint-Louis and learned the techniques that enabled them to create similar collections in their own countries.
After several hours spent continuously walking through the galleries and absorbing the overwhelming number of exhibits, I found myself exhausted. I would gladly have stayed longer, but I did not wish to inconvenience the attendant, and I understood that visitors from Mexico were expected later that afternoon. I thanked him sincerely and took my leave.
The courtyard of the old hospital resembles a public park or formal garden. Many people were relaxing on the lawns and enjoying lunch. I too rested for a while on a bench.
Across the street stands the modern hospital building, a striking contrast to the historic structures. It houses the dermatology outpatient clinics and wards, and I noticed a directory bearing Professor Martine Bagot’s name. Nevertheless, it seemed inappropriate for an unknown visitor without an appointment to appear unannounced, so I limited myself to viewing the entrance hall.
The coexistence of a state-of-the-art medical facility with beautifully preserved historic buildings conveyed something profound about Saint-Louis Hospital—a deep respect for both innovation and tradition. It was a fitting conclusion to a memorable pilgrimage into the history of dermatology.
English version prepared with AI assistance
(Originally written in Japanese)
Japanese version:
https://hifuka-otibohiroi.net/パリ遠近 サンルイ病院ムラージュ博物館/
The Arc de Triomphe at Night
Just a short distance off the main path, there were narrow trails like this. Venturing in alone felt somewhat intimidating.
A spacious walking path along the lake.
Walkers and joggers passed by, while others relaxed on benches and enjoyed the scenery.
After walking all the way to Longchamp Racecourse, I was finally beginning to feel tired.
The entrance to Longchamp Racecourse.
A book compiled by Professor Kei Iwatsuki and colleagues of Okayama University. Drawing upon materials preserved in the Saint-Louis Hospital Medical Library, it introduces moulages and presents translations of original descriptions of major dermatological diseases named after French dermatologists. This book inspired my visit.
One of the entrances to the historic buildings of Saint-Louis Hospital.
With my iPad in hand, I set out in search of the museum.
The entrance to the Musée des Moulages.
Surprisingly modest in appearance and easy to overlook. Comparing old photographs, however, I realized that this very spot served as the setting for the commemorative photograph of the First International Congress of Dermatology in 1889, where participants lined up across the entrance.
King Louis IX of France (reigned 1226–1270), after whom Saint-Louis Hospital is named.
His statue stands in a corner just inside the entrance.
In another corner stands Dr. Raymond Sabouraud, renowned for his pioneering work in medical mycology.
He was one of the leading authorities on fungal diseases and once taught Masao Ota (Ota of Ota’s Nevis fame) during his stay in Paris.
The courtyard of the old hospital.
Groups of staff and visitors enjoyed their lunch break in the peaceful surroundings.
Across the street stands the strikingly modern new hospital building.
The entrance hall of the new hospital.
