The Arcades Project - Operi
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The Arcades Project - Operi

The Arcades Project - Operi The Arcades Project - Operi

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commentating naturalist theater of Chirac housed the Thetre de Verite, in which one-act plays were performed by a nude couple. To day, one still finds in the Passage Choiseul the Bouffes Parisiennes, and if the other theaters have had to close their doors, the small bare booths of the ticket agents open like a secret passage to all theaters. But this gives no idea of how strict the correlation between arcade and theater originally was. Under -, it was the custom to name fancy-goods shops after the most snccessful vaudevilles of the season. And since such shops, by and large, made up the most elegant part of the arcades, the gallery was, in places, like the mockup of a theater. These magasin.s de nouveautis played a particular role here. Claretie speaks of the "stifled perspective" of certain pictures and compares it to the airlessness of the arcades. But the perspective of the arcades can itself be compared to this "suffocated" perspective, which is precisely that of the stereoscope. The nineteenth century Energies of repose (of tradition) which carry over from the nineteenth century. Transposed historical forces of tradition. What would the nineteenth century be to us if we were bound to it by tradition? How would it look as religion or mythology? We have no tactile relation to it. That is, we are trained to view things, in the historical sphere, from a romantic distance. To account for the directly transmitted inheritance is important. But it is still too early, for example, to form a collection. Concrete, materialistic deliberation on what is nearest is now required. "Mythology;' as Aragon says, drives things back into the distance. Only the presentation of what relates to us, what conditions us, is important. The nineteenth century-to borrow the Surrealists' terms-is the set of noises that invades our dream, and which we interpret on awaking. A walk through Paris will begin with an aperitif-tllat is, between five and six o'clock. I would not tie you down to this. You can take one of the great railroad stations as your point of departure: the Gare du Nord, with trains leaving for Berlin; the Gare de l'Est, with departures for Fraukfurt; the Gare Saint-Lazare, where you can take off for London; and the Gare de Lyon, with its into the P.L.M. If you want my advice, I'd recommend the Gare Saint-Lazare. There you have half of France and half of Europe around you; names lil

stations make good starting points, but they also serve very well as destinations, 1bink now of the city's squares. Here, certain distinctions are called for: some are without history and without name, Thus, there is the Place de la Bastille and the Place de la Republique, the Place de la Concorde and the Place Blanche, but there are also others whose designers are unknown, and whose names are often not to be found on any wall. TIlcse squares are lucky accidents, as it were, in the urban landscape; they do not enjoy the patronage of history like the Place Vendilme or the Place de Greve, are not the result of long planning, but instead resemble architectural improvisations-those crowds ofhonses where the shabby buildings collide in a jumble, In these squares, the trees hold sway; here the smallest trees afford thick shade, At night, however, their leaves stand out ag'ainst the gas-burning street lamps like transparent fruits, These tiny hidden squares are the nlture Gardens of the Hesperides, Let us suppose, then, that at five o'clock we sit down to an aperitif on the Place SainteJulie, Of one thing we may be sure: we will be the only foreigners and will have, perhaps, not even one Parisian near us, And should a neighbor present himself, he will most likely give the impression of being a provincial who has stopped in here at the end of the day to have a beer, Now, here we have a little secret password of freemasonry by which fanatical Paris-aficionados, French as well as foreign, recognize one another, This word is "province;' With a shmg of the shoulders, the true Parisian, though he may never travel out of the city for years at a stretch, refuses to live in . rIc lives in the treizihne or the deuxihne or the dix­ /zuitieme)' not in Paris but in his arrondissement-in the third, seventh, or twentieth. And this is the provinces, Here, perhaps, is tl,e secret of the gentle hegemony which the city maintains over France: in the heart of its neighborhoods, and provinces, it has welc0111cd the other into itself, and so possesses more provinces than the whole of France, For it would be foolish to depend on the bureaucratic division into arrondissements here: Paris has more than twenty of them and comprises a multitude of towns and villagcs, A young Parisian author, Jacques de Lacretelle, has recently taken as ti,e theme of his dreamy

stations make good starting points, but they also serve very well as destinations,<br />

1bink now of the city's squares. Here, certain distinctions are called for: some<br />

are without history and without name, Thus, there is the Place de la Bastille and<br />

the Place de la Republique, the Place de la Concorde and the Place Blanche, but<br />

there are also others whose designers are unknown, and whose names are often<br />

not to be found on any wall. TIlcse squares are lucky accidents, as it were, in the<br />

urban landscape; they do not enjoy the patronage of history like the Place<br />

Vendilme or the Place de Greve, are not the result of long planning, but instead<br />

resemble architectural improvisations-those crowds ofhonses where the shabby<br />

buildings collide in a jumble, In these squares, the trees hold sway; here the<br />

smallest trees afford thick shade, At night, however, their leaves stand out ag'ainst<br />

the gas-burning street lamps like transparent fruits, <strong>The</strong>se tiny hidden squares<br />

are the nlture Gardens of the Hesperides, Let us suppose, then,<br />

that at five o'clock we sit down to an aperitif on the Place SainteJulie, Of one<br />

thing we may be sure: we will be the only foreigners and will have, perhaps, not<br />

even one Parisian near us, And should a neighbor present himself, he will most<br />

likely give the impression of being a provincial who has stopped in here at the<br />

end of the day to have a beer, Now, here we have a little secret password of<br />

freemasonry by which fanatical Paris-aficionados, French as well as foreign, recognize<br />

one another, This word is "province;' With a shmg of the shoulders, the<br />

true Parisian, though he may never travel out of the city for years at a stretch,<br />

refuses to live in . rIc lives in the treizihne or the deuxihne or the dix­<br />

/zuitieme)' not in Paris but in his arrondissement-in the third, seventh, or twentieth.<br />

And this is the provinces, Here, perhaps, is tl,e secret of the gentle hegemony<br />

which the city maintains over France: in the heart of its neighborhoods, and provinces, it has welc0111cd the other into itself, and so possesses<br />

more provinces than the whole of France, For it would be foolish to depend on<br />

the bureaucratic division into arrondissements here: Paris has more than twenty of<br />

them and comprises a multitude of towns and villagcs, A young Parisian author,<br />

Jacques de Lacretelle, has recently taken as ti,e theme of his dreamy

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