With Baudelaire in Brussels, #01
With Baudelaire in Brussels, #01
Introduction and Prologue
Last week was the 160th anniversary of Georges Barral’s trip to Brussels and his five-day visit with the poet Charles Baudelaire, later published as Cinq journées avec Charles Baudelaire à Bruxelles (Liège: Vigie 30, 1932). To mark the occasion I am going to share my translation of the first four days, published in installments.
Baudelaire, as you will see later, did not care for Belgians; he once described them as a cross between a mollusk and an ape. I, however, am quite fond of Belgium and its people — so to offset the poet’s hostility each post will be accompanied by the work of an artist from Les Vingt.
Prologue
I was scarcely out of my adolescence when a memorable set of circumstances put me in direct contact with Baudelaire for five days in a row in Brussels. It was here that the immortal and damned poet of the Les Fleurs du mal had come in search of refuge, calm, and sympathy. He found nothing but mistrust and hostility in the budding capital of the new Belgian kingdom, where he suffered a long and most painful ordeal.
Brussels, at that time, still had the look of a true provincial city; not particularly well populated, morose, and suspicious. It was a social and intellectual desert, lacking any sort of liveliness except during the holidays. All of the French exiles who had arrived since December 1851 decamped once the imperial amnesty was granted on August 15, 1859. Baudelaire had been there for several months, feeling sorry for himself and in very grave spirits.
By the end of the summer of 1864, I had spent thirteen months as one of the four secretaries of the Society of Aerial Automotion that Félix Nadar had just founded in Paris.
My master had devised and built, at great cost, a balloon that was particularly large for the time. It was first called the Titan, then the Géant, measuring more than six thousand cubic metres. This aerostat quickly gained in popularity and made two eventful ascensions at the Champ de Mars in Paris on October 4 and 8, 1863. These two departures were attended by Napoléon III, the Empress Eugénie, and the young Crown Prince, as well as by members of the court, ministers, and senior civil servants.
Under the patronage of two well placed and remarkably intelligent men – Léopold I, king of Belgium, and Jules Anspach, mayor of Brussels – Nadar had been invited to the Belgian capital to perform a third ascension to further the study of heavier than air aeronautics.
To give greater moment to this demonstration, they had chosen the month and dates of the national holidays. These are naturally celebrated in the fall, having been instituted to commemorate the Belgian revolution and the battles of September 23, 24, 25 and 26 in 1830. Nadar was granted two large subsidies to offset any financial obligations. In exchange, he had agreed to take three young Belgians on board. These three were charged with forming a scientific commission on aerial studies, with a plan drawn up by the illustrious astronomer and physicist Quételet. This commission consisted of Captain Sterckz, Lieutenant Frédérix, and the engineer Léon Rote. Nadar had retained the right to add several members of his choice to the group, and I applied for the position as soon as I learned about it. I showed such enthusiasm in my request that Nadar agreed. And so I left Paris.
I arrived at the Gare du Midi in Brussels at about six o’clock in the morning. The train station is situated at the edge of Place Rouppe, and I went directly by foot to the Hôtel de Suède, on rue de l’Évêque.
Leaving the hotel, I quickly fortified myself with a pistolet with ham, this being a delicious type of bread roll particular to Brussels that costs five cents or one small pistole coin, created during the Spanish reign and from which it gets its name. A nickel! With the price of the ham in addition, of course. I washed it all down with a large glass of faro, a popular beer special to the region and another souvenir of the Spanish. After this, taking rue du Fossé aux Loups, I soon reached the Hôtel des Étrangers, later renamed the Hôtel de la Poste when the central administration transferred its offices to rue de la Montagne in the middle of the city.
Nadar had established his headquarters in an apartment on the second floor of the Hôtel des Étrangers, overlooking the rue d’Argent. The delightful composer Massenet would live here later and write the Saint-Sulpice scene of Manon.
Once I arrived, Nadar explained my role in the preparations and sent me to the botanical gardens. The envelope of the Géant had been spread out over the tiles of the Orangerie, and filled the centre of the room. We soon transported it, with the help of numerous assistants, to the nearby heights of the old Porte de Schaerbeek, which is in the midst of the Saint-Josseten-Noode district. I stood in awe of the floral beauty of the botanical gardens at my feet, and the splendour of the panorama before me. “A fine spot to rise to the heavens,” I murmured.
I returned to the Orangerie to devote myself to the tasks with which I had been entrusted. A bit before ten o’clock, I was busy inflating small rubber balloons in order to verify the successive orientation of the wind when Nadar suddenly entered the greenhouse in an uproar.
He advanced towards me at great speed and volubly ordered me to stop my work and seek out Baudelaire at his hotel without delay. His dear old friend was to take part in the voyage, and he had promised to give him a preliminary initiation during the preparations.
“Run to the Hôtel du Grand Miroir to collect Baudelaire and bring him back immediately,” he said. “Here is a ticket that will also serve as a pass card for two people. It is signed by Mayor Anspach, the chief of police, and myself, owner of the Géant. What? Haven’t you left yet?!”
I took my hat, and ran off in a hurry.
Here, I ask the reader to accompany me during the following five days. Let him prepare to see the true Baudelaire appear; a man who, contrary to all legend, is active and very lively.
About the Author and the Book
Georges Barral was born in Paris on 2 January 1842, son of the chemist and agronomist Jean-Augustin Barral. Shortly after leaving university, Barral was hired to serve as secretary to the photographer and hot air balloonist Félix Nadar. In 1864 he published his first book, Impressions aériennes d’un compagnon de Nadar, a brief account of the third ascension of Nadar’s Géant balloon.
Although he had trained as a chemist, physiologist, and lawyer, Barral earned his living primarily as a journalist and popular science writer. He authored the biographies of several men of science, including his friend Dr. Claude Bernard in 1889, Lazare Carnot in 1890, and Gustave Trouvé in 1891.
Barral also had an interest in the First French Empire and in 1889 wrote a history of science under Napoléon (Histoire des sciences sous Napoléon Bonaparte). In 1895, he edited a collection of the Emperor’s military speeches (Allocutions et proclamations militaires) and produced an illustrated guide book to Waterloo (L’Épopée de Waterloo) that drew on the reminiscences of his two grandfathers, both of whom had taken part in the battle.
In 1899 Barral became editorial director of the Collection des poètes français de l’étranger, published by Fischbacher, and is credited with bringing a number of international francophone writers – such as the Haitian poet Etzer Villaire – into wider repute. In the early 1900s Barral moved to Belgium and wrote about meeting Baudelaire for Le Petit Bleu magazine in 1901, 1902, and 1906.
Barral died in Brussels on 9 May, 1913 and left his notes on Baudelaire to the Belgian poet and professor Maurice Kunel, who republished them in Liège in 1932 under the Vigie 30 imprint as Cinq journées avec Charles Baudelaire à Bruxelles. In 1995 the book was reprinted in Sens, France by Éditions Obsidiane. This is the first time the memoir been translated into English.