Parisian cafés and bistros. On literature as a serious thing
BISTROTSET CAFÉSPARISIENSDe la Littérature comme quelquechose de sérieux
| Can we grasp the specific character of a city if we know its bistros in detail? A rather frivolous question at first sight, and a pointless one at that, to which Léon-Paul Fargue answers with a shade of irony when he writes: "I don't know which humorist claimed, and rightly so, that one could write a history of civilization by limiting its study to cafés. I think it is enough to recognize that we are, of course, dealing here with the most solid of French institutions"1. Whatever name we apply to it: inn, tavern, buffet, trattoria or speluncheon, the bistro-café has had the same function throughout the ages and polarizes the same energies - anonymous, discreet and unchanging. Although the public space of the bistro does not directly belong to history, it is a kind of thermometer that allows the observer to take the temperature of events that mark everyday life in a wider space, which for the time being we can call an era. That is, of course, if we grant L.-P. Fargue the privilege (of which he would immediately avail himself) of limiting the "history of civilization" to the Parisian phenomenon. History is therefore not involved when it comes to explaining the workings of the anonymous space of the bistro, where you can stay for ten minutes or several hours without anyone noticing (apart from the waiter, of course). In 1941, when Léo Larguier, a member of the Académie Goncourt, took refuge in the south of France, in the free zone, he settled comfortably on the terrace of the Café de l'Univers in Villeneuve-lez-Avignon and began to reminisce about Parisian bistros, which he missed, as they were completely absent in Provence2. On this occasion, he revisited the most important places he had known and where he had let himself be carried away on the wings of dreams, enjoying a moment of solitude or, on the contrary, unexpected encounters with friends or even strangers, who were just waiting for a pretext to start telling his life story. Memories sprang up, and with them the whole Parisian universe, made up of urban regions that became famous one by one, according to their moment of glory: the Grand Boulevards, the Latin Quarter, Montparnasse, Odéon, Saint-Germain, to mention only the best known. The period that fascinates him and which he evokes with nostalgia is the turn of the century, that miraculous "Paris 1900", when modernity had not yet taken its toll (which, he tells us, was to happen after the First World War). As one might expect, Léo Larguier's favorite memories are of literature and the writers he has known over the years. To the figures of Jean Moréas and Emile Faguet at the Café Vachette, and Raoul Ponchon at the Café de Cluny, are added dozens of other characters now completely forgotten or simply anonymous figures who have remained in the writer's memory because of their seemingly original appearance, such as the provincial notary who returns to Paris after thirty years' absence to find Boul' Mich' as he knew him in his youth. The changes that have taken place in the meantime will have been so far-reaching that the notary in question will be not only disappointed by the disappearance of the familiar urban landscape, but also astonished. |
| Read the full text in Arhitectura 5/2013 |
| Notes: 1 Poisons, Le Temps qu'il fait, 1992, p. 73. 2 Au Café de l'Univers, Avignon, Edouard Aubanel, 1942. |
| Can we grasp the specificity of a city through its bistros? A rather frivolous question at first sight, and a rather idle one at that, which Léon-Paul Fargue tackles with a touch of irony when he writes: "I don't know which humorist rightly claimed that a history of civilization could be written by limiting its study to that of cafés. Let it suffice for us to recognize that the café is without doubt the most solid of all French institutions".1 Whatever the name applied to it: inn, tavern, refreshment bar, coffee house or "mastroquet", the bistro has fulfilled the same function over the centuries and polarized the same energies - anonymous, discreet and unalterable. Although the public space of the bistrot is not directly concerned with history proper, it is nonetheless a scale that allows the observer to take the measure of the movements that inscribe everyday existence in something larger, which we can provisionally call epoch. This is, of course, if we grant L.-P. Fargue the privilege, which he would immediately enjoy, of limiting the "history of civilization" to the Paris phenomenon. So it is not History that is at issue when the question arises of how the anonymous space of the "cafeton" works, where one can stay for ten minutes or several hours without anyone noticing (apart from the boy, of course). In 1941, when he fled to the Midi, in the free zone, Léo Larguier, a member of the Académie Goncourt, took a comfortable seat on the terrace of the Café de l'Univers in Villeneuve-lez-Avignon and began to reminisce about Parisian bistros2, which he sorely missed in the Provençal countryside. It was an opportunity for him to revisit the most important places he had known and where he had enjoyed dreaming, enjoying a moment of solitude or, on the contrary, meeting unexpected people, friends or strangers who were just waiting for a pretext to start telling their life story. Memories spring up and the whole Parisian universe with them, naturally made up of urban fields that have become famous in turn, according to the moment of their glory: the Grands Boulevards, Montmartre, the Latin Quarter, Montparnasse, Odéon, the Boulevard Saint-Germain to name only the best known. The era which fascinates him and which he evokes with nostalgia is that of the turn of the century, that marvelous "Paris 1900" when modernity had not yet taken hold in the city (according to him, this is what was to come after the war). As you might expect, Léo Larguier's cherished memories are linked to the literature and writers he has known over the years: Jean Moréas and Emile Faguet at Café Vachette, Raoul Ponchon at Café de Cluny, and dozens of other characters now forgotten or simply anonymous because of their original appearance, like the provincial notary who returns to Paris after thirty years away to find the Boul' Mich' of his youth. The extent of the changes will be such that he will be left not only disappointed by the disappearance of the urban landscape he had known, but also astonished. |
| Read the full text in issue 5/2013 of L'architecture |
| Notes: 1 Poisons, Le Temps qu'il fait, 1992, p. 73. 2 Au Café de l'Univers, Avignon, Edouard Aubanel, 1942. |
Photographs: Constantin Zaharia
