With Baudelaire in Brussels, #03
Baudelaire and Barral order steaks and drink Pommard
To mark the 160th anniversary of Georges Barral’s trip to Brussels and his five-day visit with the poet Charles Baudelaire, I am publishing my translation of the first four days from his memoir on Substack. You can find the previous instalments here.
Breathless from climbing the precipitous rue Montagne de la Cour, we suddenly come out into the midst of Place Royal, which we cross through the middle. We make for the Taverne du Globe, located between the rue de Namur and the flight of steps that lead to Saint- Jacques church. There are tables and chairs on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, and we take a seat.
The sun is at its zenith. It is noon, and the temperature is mild. We are supposed to be with Nadar before half past one. We are therefore somewhat hurried. Baudelaire is my guest. The waiter arrives, and Baudelaire speaks up.
“Give us today’s special, a beefsteak with souffléd potatoes, cheese, coffee, and a cognac to round things off, as they do in Paris. And what shall we have to drink?,” he adds, turning towards me. “I suggest a bottle of real Pommard. That will give us strength.”
We laugh at these words. The people around us laugh. The establishment is teeming with people. It is a Monday, the complement to Sunday, and everything is closed for the four day national holiday. The Belgians celebrate the “glorious four” – one day more than the French. What’s more, the sky that I am watching constantly (and with good reason) is irreproachably splendid, a turquoise blue wrapped in tulle. Nadar’sname, which must still be well known to the people of Brussels, is on everyone’s lips. They all plan to attend the Géant’s departure.
Having learned the reason for our haste the waiter, a native of Petite Villette who has wound up in Brussels, looks after us speedily. We are surrounded by neighbours who watch us, and we speak little. The Pommard has the heady bouquet of a fine burgundy, and is delectable.
“Take away this carafe of water. The sight of it horrifies me,” says Baudelaire in jest. We savour the coffee, and wash it down with cognac. Our meal is finished. I look after the bill, the total of which is 8,95 francs, and add a tip for the waiter.
“There are eight and nonante-cinq francs for the proprietor,” says Baudelaire, counting ninety-five the way the locals do. The price is moderate. It is 1864, and since that time costs have increased significantly.
I have retained the details of our menu:
TAVERNE – RESTAURANT DU GLOBE
PLACE ROYALE, BRUSSELS
Bread and service ........................................ 0,50
Two beefsteaks with potatoes.................... 2,50
Two pieces of Gruyère cheese and butter 1,00
Two coffees................................................... 1,00
Two cognacs................................................. 0,80
Vieux Pommard wine ................................. 3,00
TOTAL 8,95Lunch adjourns. We cross Place Royale to our right. Passing between Saint-Jacques church and the mounted statue of Godefroid de Boullion, Baudelaire waves his hand between the two and says, “Looks vaguely like the Madeleine church in Paris! Nice style! A great man! Nice horse!”
We enter into the pleasing shade of the park and when we leave it near the ministry buildings at the top of rue de la Loi, the crowd has become thick near rue Royale. We have some difficulty negotiating this long route that should take us directly to where the Géant will be inflated. Thanks to our pass, the very courteous police officers help us to get through. Baudelaire steps lithely, weaving in and out between the Belgians who advance in a solid mass.
At last we see the greenery of the botanical gardens and the central dome of its vast greenhouses. The Géant is still crawling along the ground. Behind the swelling globe, the gilt profile of the Byzantine Sainte-Marie Church is visible. Nadar’s tall and radiant figure suddenly appears on the other side of the barriers that restrain the impatient population. He is dressed in dark colours and wears a loose fitting jacket and trousers, a floppy bow tie, and suede gloves. He is leaning on a solid, golden handled cane; a gift from Madame Sand.
He is wearing a magnificent, grey, flat brimmed, top hat. Smooth sided and circled with a thin black band, the crown is flared from the the bottom, giving it an elegant line towards the top. It is the perfect example of a baudelairian hat. Locks of bright red hair spill over his collar. He is grinning, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. His moustache hangs over his mocking lips, always ready with a retort. He wears the collar of his shirt turned down, and the sleeves are an impeccable white. These features, and the grey tint of his hat, are the marks that make it easy for everyone to identify this famous aeronaut.
We pass through the solid, mobile barriers that were an object of general curiosity. They are Mr. Anspach’s idea, and we inaugurate them. They are quite sporty, and of a pleasant quality. All of a sudden, the crowd baptizes them “Nadar Barriers.” From this day on they are known by this name, and referred to as such in administrative records.
Delightful. I could almost taste the Pommard...
Stay tuned. There will be another interesting wine pairing later on...