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Paris Cafes: A Way of Life
| Article
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19704 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
9 / 1991 |
2,916 Words |
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Karen Fawcett
Karen Fawcett is a Paris-based writer. |
If these names sound familiar, it is because they are a few of Paris' celebrated Left Bank cafes. Artists, writers, and intellectuals have frequented them for decades, turning them into historic landmarks. But the ubiquitous Paris café--and there are around five thousand of them of varying size and importance--is a vital part of the Paris scene for Parisians and tourists alike.
The oldest documented café in Paris is Le Procope, which opened at its present location (13 Rue de L'Ancienne-Comedie) in 1686. Paris' literary and political elite gathered there to discuss the events of the day. Voltaire is rumored to have drunk each day some forty cups of coffee, flavored with chocolate, while holding court. Napoleon Bonaparte spent time there. And when Benjamin Franklin died in 1790, Le Procope was draped in black in honor of one of France's favorite Americans. The café was named for its Sicilian owner, nobleman Francesco Procopio dei Coltelli, who anticipated the future popularity of coffee.
The nineteenth century brought Le Procope more famous patrons: Victor Hugo, George Sand, Honore de Balzac, Emile Zola, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Guy de Maupassant, and Paul Cezanne--to name just a few. Remodeled in 1988, Le Procope is now a restaurant and no longer a café. But it set the stage for thousands of cafes to follow.
Today's café patrons come in search of a variety of things. Many simply want a cup of coffee and place to sit and read the newspapers supplied by the establishment. Others want a congenial environment for conversation, or just the comfort of being surrounded by people.
The small round brass-rimmed tables are packed so closely together that one has to make a conscious decision not to speak to the person sitting in the next wicker chair. People often sit alone by choice.
No matter what the hour, the best tables seem always occupied. A visitor could get the impression that rather than working, Parisians pass their days and nights drinking coffee and socializing.
Regulars seem to wear blinders and appear immune to the stares of waiting customers, who look jealously (and often) at the tables they covet. "Tant pis" (too bad), as the French expression goes.
Because most waiters are patient about letting customers sit as long as they want, those
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