For the student, newly arrived from the provinces, to whose modest purse the theatres and other places of amusement are practically closed, the café is a supreme5 resource. His mind is moulded, his ideas and opinions formed, more by what he hears and sees there than by any other influence. A restaurant is of little importance. One may eat anywhere. But the choice of his café will often give the bent6 to a young man’s career, and indicate his exact shade of politics and his opinions on literature, music, or art. In Paris, to know a man at all is to know where you can find him at the hour of the apéritif—what Baudelaire called
L’heure sainte
De l’absinthe.
When young men form a society among themselves, a café is chosen as their meeting-place. Thousands of establishments exist only by such patronage7, as, for example, the Café de la Régence, Place du Théâtre Français, which is frequented entirely8 by men who play chess.
Business men transact9 their affairs as much over their coffee as in their offices. The reading man finds at his café the daily and weekly papers; a writer is sure of the undisturbed possession of pen, ink, and paper. Henri Murger, the author, when asked once why he continued to patronize a certain establishment notorious for the inferior quality of its beer, answered, “Yes, the beer is poor, but they keep such good ink!”
The use of a café does not imply any great expenditure10, a consummation costing but little. With it is acquired the right to use the establishment for an indefinite number of hours, the client being warmed, lighted, and served. From five to seven, and again after dinner, the habitués stroll in, grouping themselves about the small tables, each new-comer joining a congenial circle, ordering his drink, and settling himself for a long sitting. The last editorial, the newest picture, or the fall of a ministry11 is discussed with a vehemence12 and an interest unknown to Anglo-Saxon natures. Suddenly, in the excitement of the discussion, some one will rise in his place and begin speaking. If you happen to drop in at that moment, the lady at the desk will welcome you with, “You are just in time! Monsieur So-and-So is speaking; the evening promises to be interesting.” She is charmed; her establishment will shine with a reflected light, and new patrons be drawn13 there, if the debates are brilliant. So universal is this custom that there is hardly an orator14 to-day at the French bar or in the Senate, who has not broken his first lance in some such obscure tournament, under the smiling glances of the dame15 du comptoir.
Opposite the Palace of the Luxembourg, in the heart of the old Latin Quarter, stands a quaint1 building, half hotel, half café, where many years ago Joseph II. resided while visiting his sister, Marie Antoinette. It is known now as Foyot’s; this name must awaken16 many happy memories in the hearts of American students, for it was long their favorite meeting-place. In the early seventies a club, formed among the literary and poetic17 youth of Paris, selected Foyot’s as their “home” during the winter months. Their summer vacations were spent in visiting the university towns of France, reciting verses, or acting18 in original plays at Nancy, Bordeaux, Lyons, or Caen. The enthusiasm these youthful performances created inspired one of their number with the idea of creating in Paris, on a permanent footing, a centre where a limited public could meet the young poets of the day and hear them recite their verses and monologues19 in an informal way.
The success of the original “Chat Noir,” the first cabaret of this kind, was largely owing to the sympathetic and attractive nature of its founder20, young Salis, who drew around him, by his sunny disposition21, shy personalities22 who, but for him, would still be “mute, inglorious Miltons.” Under his kindly23 and discriminating24 rule many a successful literary career has started. Salis’s gifted nature combined a delicate taste and critical acumen25 with a rare business ability. His first venture, an obscure little café on the Boulevard Rochechouart, in the outlying quarter beyond the Place Pigalle, quickly became famous, its ever-increasing vogue26 forcing its happy proprietor27 to seek more commodious28 quarters in the rue29 Victor Massé, where the world-famous “Chat Noir” was installed with much pomp and many joyous30 ceremonies.
The old word cabaret, corresponding closely to our English “inn,” was chosen, and the establishment decorated in imitation of a Louis XIII. hôtellerie. Oaken beams supported the low-studded ceilings: The plaster walls disappeared behind tapestries31, armor, old faïence. Beer and other liquids were served in quaint porcelain32 or pewter mugs, and the waiters were dressed (merry anachronism) in the costume of members of the Institute (the Immortal33 Forty), who had so long led poetry in chains. The success of the “Black Cat” in her new quarters was immense, all Paris crowding through her modest doors. Salis had founded Montmartre!—the rugged34 old hill giving birth to a generation of writers and poets, and nourishing this new school at her granite35 breasts.
It would be difficult to imagine a form of entertainment more tempting36 than was offered in this picturesque38 inn. In addition to the first, the entire second floor of the building had been thrown into one large room, the walls covered with a thousand sketches39, caricatures, and crayon drawings by hands since celebrated40 the world over. A piano, with many chairs and tables, completed the unpretending installation. Here, during a couple of hours each evening, either by the piano or simply standing41 in their places, the young poets gave utterance42 to the creations of their imagination, the musicians played their latest inspirations, the raconteur43 told his newest story. They called each other and the better known among the guests by their names, and joked mutual44 weaknesses, eliminating from these gatherings45 every shade of a perfunctory performance.
It is impossible to give an idea of the delicate flavor of such informal evenings—the sensation of being at home that the picturesque surroundings produced, the low murmur46 of conversation, the clink of glasses, the swing of the waltz movement played by a master hand, interrupted only when some slender form would lean against the piano and pour forth47 burning words of infinite pathos48,—the inspired young face lighted up by the passion and power of the lines. The burst of applause that his talent called forth would hardly have died away before another figure would take the poet’s place, a wave of laughter welcoming the new-comer, whose twinkling eyes and demure49 smile promised a treat of fun and humor. So the evening would wear gayly to its end, the younger element in the audience, full of the future, drinking in long draughts50 of poetry and art, the elders charmed to live over again the days of their youth and feel in touch once more with the present.
In this world of routine and conventions an innovation as brilliantly successful as this could hardly be inaugurated without raising a whirlwind of jealousy51 and opposition52. The struggle was long and arduous53. Directors of theatres and concert halls, furious to see a part of their public tempted54 away, raised the cry of immorality55 against the new-comers, and called to their aid every resource of law and chicanery56. At the end of the first year Salis found himself with over eight hundred summonses and lawsuits57 on his hands. After having made every effort, knocked at every door, in his struggle for existence, he finally conceived the happy thought of appealing directly to Grévy, then President of the Republic, and in his audience with the latter succeeded in charming and interesting him, as he had so many others. The influence of the head of the state once brought to bear on the affair, Salis had the joy of seeing opposition crushed and the storm blow itself out.
From this moment, the poets, feeling themselves appreciated and their rights acknowledged and defended, flocked to the “Sacred Mountain,” as Montmartre began to be called; other establishments of the same character sprang up in the neighborhood. Most important among these were the “4 z’Arts,” Boulevard de Clichy, the “Tambourin,” and La Butte.
Trombert, who, together with Fragerolle, Goudezki, and Marcel Lefèvre, had just ended an artistic58 voyage in the south of France, opened the “4 z’Arts,” to which the novelty-loving public quickly found its way, crowding to applaud Coquelin cadet, Fragson, and other budding celebrities59. It was here that the poets first had the idea of producing a piece in which rival cabarets were reviewed and laughingly criticised. The success was beyond all precedent60, in spite of the difficulty of giving a play without a stage, without scenery or accessories of any kind, the interest centring in the talent with which the lines were declaimed by their authors, who next had the pleasant thought of passing in review the different classes of popular songs, Clovis Hugues, at the same time poet and statesman, discoursing61 on each subject, and introducing the singer; Brittany local songs, Provençal ballads63, ant the half Spanish, half French chansons of the Pyrenees were sung or recited by local poets with the charm and abandon of their distinctive64 races.
The great critics did not disdain65 to attend these informal gatherings, nor to write columns of serious criticism on the subject in their papers.
At the hour when all Paris takes its apéritif the “4 z’Arts” became the meeting-place of the painters, poets, and writers of the day. Montmartre gradually replaced the old Latin Quarter; it is there to-day that one must seek for the gayety and humor, the pathos and the makeshifts of Bohemia.
The “4 z’Arts,” next to the “Chat Noir,” has had the greatest influence on the taste of our time,—the pleiad of poets that grouped themselves around it in the beginning, dispersing66 later to form other centres, which, in their turn, were to influence the minds and moods of thousands.
Another charming form of entertainment inaugurated by this group of men is that of “shadow pictures,” conceived originally by Caran d’Ache, and carried by him to a marvellous perfection. A medium-sized frame filled with ground glass is suspended at one end of a room and surrounded by sombre draperies. The room is darkened; against the luminous67 background of the glass appear small black groups (shadows cast by figures cut out of cardboard). These figures move, advancing and retreating, grouping or separating themselves to the cadence68 of the poet’s verses, for which they form the most original and striking illustrations. Entire poems are given accompanied by these shadow pictures.
One of Caran d’Ache’s greatest successes in this line was an Epopée de Napoléon,—the great Emperor appearing on foot and on horseback, the long lines of his army passing before him in the foreground or small in the distance. They stormed heights, cheered on by his presence, or formed hollow squares to repulse69 the enemy. During their evolutions, the clear voice of the poet rang out from the darkness with thrilling effect.
The nicest art is necessary to cut these little figures to the required perfection. So great was the talent of their inventor that, when he gave burlesques70 of the topics of the day, or presented the celebrities of the hour to his public, each figure would be recognized with a burst of delighted applause. The great Sarah was represented in poses of infinite humor, surrounded by her menagerie or receiving the homage71 of the universe. Political leaders, foreign sovereigns, social and operatic stars, were made to pass before a laughing public. None were spared. Paris went mad with delight at this new “art,” and for months it was impossible to find a seat vacant in the hall.
At the Boite à Musique, the idea was further developed. By an ingenious arrangement of lights, of which the secret has been carefully kept, landscapes are represented in color; all the gradations of light are given, from the varied72 twilight73 hues74 to purple night, until the moon, rising, lights anew the picture. During all these variations of color little groups continue to come and go, acting out the story of a poem, which the poet delivers from the surrounding obscurity as only an author can render his own lines.
One of the pillars of this attractive centre was Jules Jouy, who made a large place for himself in the hearts of his contemporaries—a true poet, whom neither privations nor the difficult beginnings of an unknown writer could turn from his vocation75. His songs are alternately tender, gay, and bitingly sarcastic76. Some of his better-known ballads were written for and marvellously interpreted by Yvette Guilbert. The difficult critics, Sarcey and Jules Lemaître, have sounded his praise again and again.
A cabaret of another kind which enjoyed much celebrity77, more on account of the personality of the poet who founded it than from any originality78 or picturesqueness79 in its intallation, was the “Mirliton,” opened by Aristide Bruant in the little rooms that had sheltered the original “Chat Noir.”
To give an account of the “Mirliton” is to tell the story of Bruant, the most popular ballad62-writer in France to-day. This original and eccentric poet is as well-known to a Parisian as the boulevards or the Arc de Triomphe. His costume of shabby black velvet80, Brittany waistcoat, red shirt, top-boots, and enormous hat is a familiar feature in the caricatures and prints of the day. His little cabaret remains81 closed during the day, opening its doors toward evening. The personality of the ballad-writer pervades82 the atmosphere. He walks about the tiny place hailing his acquaintances with some gay epigram, receiving strangers with easy familiarity or chilling disdain, as the humor takes him; then in a moment, with a rapid change of expression, pouring out the ringing lines of one of his ballads—always the story of the poor and humble83, for he has identified himself with the outcast and the disinherited. His volumes Dans la Rue and Sur la Route have had an enormous popularity, their contents being known and sung all over France.
In 1892 Bruant was received as a member of the society of Gens de Lettres. It may be of interest to recall a part of the speech made by François Coppée on the occasion: “It is with the greatest pleasure that I present to my confrères my good friend, the ballad-writer, Aristide Bruant. I value highly the author of Dans la Rue. When I close his volume of sad and caustic84 verses it is with the consoling thought that even vice85 and crime have their conscience: that if there is suffering there is a possible redemption. He has sought his inspiration in the gutter86, it is true, but he has seen there a reflection of the stars.”
In the Avenue Trudaine, not far from the other cabarets, the “Ane Rouge” was next opened, in a quiet corner of the immense suburb, its shady-little garden, on which the rooms open, making it a favorite meeting-place during the warm months. Of a summer evening no more congenial spot can be found in all Paris. The quaint chambers87 have been covered with mural paintings or charcoal88 caricatures of the poets themselves, or of familiar faces among the clients and patrons of the place.
One of the many talents that clustered around this quiet little garden was the brilliant Paul Verlaine, the most Bohemian of all inhabitants of modern Prague, whose death has left a void, difficult to fill. Fame and honors came too late. He died in destitution89, if not absolutely of hunger; to-day his admirers are erecting90 a bronze bust91 of him in the Garden of the Luxembourg, with money that would have gone far toward making his life happy.
In the old hôtel of the Lesdiguières family, rue de la Tour d’Auvergne, the “Carillon” opened its doors in 1893, and quickly conquered a place in the public favor, the inimitable fun and spirits of Tiercy drawing crowds to the place.
The famous “Tréteau de Tabarin,” which to-day holds undisputed precedence over all the cabarets of Paris, was among the last to appear. It was founded by the brilliant Fursy and a group of his friends. Here no pains have been spared to form a setting worthy92 of the poets and their public.
Many years ago, in the days of the good king Louis XIII., a strolling poet-actor, Tabarin, erected93 his little canvas-covered stage before the statue of Henry IV., on the Pont-Neuf, and drew the court and the town by his fun and pathos. The founders94 of the latest and most complete of Parisian cabarets have reconstructed, as far as possible, this historic scene. On the wall of the room where the performances are given, is painted a view of old Paris, the Seine and its bridges, the towers of Notre Dame in the distance, and the statue of Louis XIII.’s warlike father in the foreground. In front of this painting stands a staging of rough planks95, reproducing the little theatre of Tabarin. Here, every evening, the authors and poets play in their own pieces, recite their verses, and tell their stories. Not long ago a young musician, who has already given an opera to the world, sang an entire one-act operetta of his composition, changing his voice for the different parts, imitating choruses by clever effects on the piano.
Montmartre is now sprinkled with attractive cabarets, the taste of the public for such informal entertainments having grown each year; with reason, for the careless grace of the surroundings, the absence of any useless restraint or obligation as to hour or duration, has a charm for thousands whom a long concert or the inevitable96 five acts at the Français could not tempt37. It would be difficult to overrate the influence such an atmosphere, breathed in youth, must have on the taste and character. The absence of a sordid97 spirit, the curse of our material day and generation, the contact with intellects trained to incase their thoughts in serried98 verse or crisp and lucid99 prose, cannot but form the hearer’s mind into a higher and better mould. It is both a satisfaction and a hope for the future to know that these influences are being felt all over the capital and throughout the length and breadth of France. There are at this moment in Paris alone three or four hundred poets, ballad writers, and raconteurs100 who recite their works in public.
It must be hard for the untravelled Anglo-Saxon to grasp the idea that a poet can, without loss of prestige, recite his lines in a public café before a mixed audience. If such doubting souls could, however, be present at one of these noctes ambrosianæ, they would acknowledge that the Latin temperament101 can throw a grace and child-like abandon around an act that would cause an Englishman or an American to appear supremely102 ridiculous. One’s taste and sense of fitness are never shocked. It seems the most natural thing in the world to be sitting with your glass of beer before you, while some rising poet, whose name ten years later may figure among the “Immortal Forty,” tells to you his loves and his ambition, or brings tears into your eyes with a description of some humble hero or martyr103.
From the days of Homer poetry has been the instructor104 of nations. In the Orient to-day the poet story-teller holds his audience spellbound for hours, teaching the people their history and supplying their minds with food for thought, raising them above the dull level of the brutes105 by the charm of his verse and the elevation106 of his ideas. The power of poetry is the same now as three thousand years ago. Modern skeptical107 Paris, that scoffs108 at all creeds109 and chafes110 impatiently under any rule, will sit to-day docile111 and complaisant112, charmed by the melody of a poet’s voice; its passions lulled113 or quickened, like Alexander’s of old, at the will of a modern Timotheus.
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1
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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converge
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| vi.会合；聚集，集中；(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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8
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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14
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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15
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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raconteur
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| n.善讲故事者 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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51
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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54
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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dispersing
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| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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burlesques
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| n.滑稽模仿( burlesque的名词复数 )；（包括脱衣舞的）滑稽歌舞杂剧v.（嘲弄地）模仿，（通过模仿）取笑( burlesque的第三人称单数 ) | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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picturesqueness
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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raconteurs
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| n.善于讲轶事的人( raconteur的名词复数 ) | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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105
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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scoffs
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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chafes
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的第三人称单数 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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113
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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