The various occupations to which Fate had so cruelly destined these bohemians with the sacred fire of art burning unceasingly within their breasts, could not long be borne with patience. Many had been doomed by practical and unsympathetic parents to become bank clerks, merchants, accountants in gas companies, engineers or architects. All of these sordid careers were regarded as an unbearable present and an impossible future by inspired bards whose lyres were tuned to a higher key than the humdrum of business.
Within these singing poets the sacred fire of genius smoldered, but not for long. Like a live coal in the ashes it burst into gentle flame when breathed on by approbation. Soon the flicker became a blaze of glory; the names of those who had left their distasteful situations in the commercial world were heralded with praise by thousands.
These bards of the Butte thenceforth consecrated the remainder of their lives to the Muses. Nightly they sang to the listening throng. All of intellectual Paris came to applaud them, and their stuffy little cabaret of the Chat Noir was jammed nightly to the doors.
Salis by the advice of Emile Goudeau published a paper called the “Chat Noir,” in which appeared sketches and poems of authors like Armand Masson, Rollinat, Haraucourt, and other members of the club, illustrated by now celebrated artists, such as Steinlen, Caran d’Ache, Henri Rivière, and Willette, with drawings and cartoons in an original style hitherto unknown.
In 1885 Salis moved the Chat Noir to the rue Victor Massé. The cabaret was redecorated with rare taste and became a popular rendezvous for the haut monde. So great was the crush that the club was forced to place a guardian before the door and permit only twenty persons to enter at a time.
Henry Somm organized the first theatrical performance given at the Chat Noir. Before this there had been only the performances of singers and satirists.
Somm erected a Punch and Judy where he played a burlesque of his own, entitled “Berline de l’Emigré.”
The performance was found to be much too short. To lengthen it, the painter Henri Rivière stretched a napkin over the toy proscenium and passed in defile a procession of policemen cut in cardboard and silhouetted in shadow against the napkin. As the cardboard policemen advanced in file, Jules Jouy sang his popular satire on the police entitled, “Les Sergots.”
Photo by F. Berkeley Smith