I go to the
evenings to the Eldorado, a big café-concert on the Boulevard de
Strasbourg, a room with columns and very luxurious decor and paintings,
something rather like Kroll’s in Berlin.
Our Paris where we were born, the Paris of the way of life of
1830 to 1848, is passing away. Its passing is not material but moral.
Social life is going through a great evolution, which is beginning. I
see women, children, households, families in this café. The interior is
passing away. Life turns back to become public. The club for those on
high, the café for those below, that is what society and the people are
come to. All of this makes me feel, in this country so dear to my heart,
like a traveller. I am a stranger to what is coming, to what is, as I
am to these new boulevards, which no longer smack of the world of
Balzac, which smack of London, some Babylon of the future. It is idiotic
to arrive in an age under construction: the soul has discomforts as a
result, like a man who lives in a newly built house.
T.J. Clark, notes that when Edmond Goncourt prepared this
passage for publication in 1891, he changed the reference from “London”
to “America.” The Painting of Modern Life: Paris in the Art of Manet and His Followers (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1984), pp.33-34. |