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Paris has always been France for most Francophiles, and even those who have had no special love or even liking for France. In nineteenth-century Paris, it was acknowledged that this capital of a country was far from being only a regional center: it was, or certainly it seemed, the center of the European world. (That is, of course, to those to whom Europe was the world.) It is a mythology, perhaps, but one that has endured. That fame has spread out beyond the borders of the nation and earned a place in the hearts and minds of multitudes. In the world of fiction, which often, in Paris, seems to be the real world, it was clear how the following statement was equivalent to truth: “Paris is an ocean whose depth, when you plumb it, you will never touch the bottom.” (“Paris est un océan, jetez-y la sonde, vous n'en connaîtrez jamais la profon-deur.”) Honoré de Balzac's statement, in the mouth of the policeman arresting the great criminal Vautrin in Le Père Goriot, speaks for the city, as it speaks of it, and over the ages. No one has ever claimed—with any verifiability—to know the depths or the width of Paris. To continue with the fictional truth about the great city, as Gustave Flaubert put it in his Dictionnaire des idées reçues, “Ne plus aimer Paris, marque de décadence. Ne pouvoir s'en passer, marque de betise.” (“No longer to love Paris, a mark of decadence. Not to be able to do without it, a mark of stupidity.”)

In Literature and Life

To be sure, nineteenth-century Paris has remained in all its mythical glory, to which the world-renowned novelists Balzac and Flaubert contributed much, but there was much else, both in literature and in art. Romanticism, besides its extraordinary flowering in Germany and England, gave to the world the poems of Alphonse de Lamartine and Victor Hugo; they may have lived elsewhere, but their political lives were tied up with the capital and its events. The all-important Charles Baudelaire, the bridge between romanticism and symbolism, was the author of unforgettable poems about Paris, about its outcasts and degradation (“A une cadavre” or “To a Corpse”), about its misfits like the poet himself (“L'Albatros” or “The Albatross”), and about its passersby and the possibilities of encounter they offered (“A une passante” or “To a Passerby,” with its yearning: “You, whom I would have loved …”) have marked poetry ever since. His writings about art in his reporting on the various salons yield the surest sense we have of what was going on in the artistic circles of the time. Baudelaire's wanderer or flâneur was the epitome of the urban wanderer—from the store window to the park, from the banks of the Seine to the dance hall, this figure floated or walked or strode. The idea of the Paris walker was endemic to the poetry of the nineteenth century and continued through the twentieth and even now. To be sure, one could walk in the countryside, but the city walker was another phenomenon and an exciting one. And as for the later literary movement of symbolism, its unchallenged leader, Stéphane Mallarmé, held his own salon every Tuesday, leaning on his mantelpiece (wonderfully captured by the great painter of ballerinas and bathers, Edgar Degas, with Auguste Renoir in Mallarmé's living room). These gatherings and Mallarmé's discourse remain the source of the movement in its social and community aspect.

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