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
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