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Updated: June 23, 2025
It may be of interest to recall a part of the speech made by François Coppée on the occasion: “It is with the greatest pleasure that I present to my confrères my good friend, the ballad-writer, Aristide Bruant. I value highly the author of Dans la Rue.
"I, for my part, have arranged to have nothing more to do with them. I only mention the matter out of pity for my poor mother, whom all that gang treat in a most revolting manner." "They are wretches!" Silvere murmured. "Oh! you don't know, you don't understand. These Rougons pour all sorts of insults and abuse on the good woman. Aristide has forbidden his son even to recognise her.
He rushed at her, opening and closing his hands with such a terrible expression that the daughter of the Afchins, in deadly terror, darted toward the door through which the masseur had just left the room, calling: "Aristide!"
The place was free from tourists, we were the only foreigners, the handsome Aristide evidently sang his songs for the pleasure of himself and the people. It was after we had sat down at our little table and given the order required of us that the incidents of the evening began to play so neatly and effectively into Harland's plot.
The whole of him looked aristocratic, energetic, perfectly poised and absolutely self-possessed. Many of the women in court glanced at him without any distaste. Aristide Dumeny was almost strangely different an ashy-pale, dark-eyed, thin and romantic-visaged man, stamped with a curious expression of pain and fatalism.
He came straight to her, his hands contracted, with such a terrible expression that the daughter of the Afchins, frightened, rushed, calling towards the door by which the masseur had just gone out: "Aristide!" This cry, the words, this intimacy of his wife with a servant!
If I'm to tell you the truth, I see only one reason for doubt, I don't say fear, as to the result." "Can you tell me what it is?" "Aristide Dumeny." At this moment the Judge returned to the bench. An hour later he began to sum up.
As his wife had pointed out to him in the morning, all obstacles had fallen away before him; the family which had dishonoured him had, at the last moment, worked for his elevation; his sons Eugene and Aristide, those spend-thrifts, the cost of whose college life he had so bitterly regretted, were at last paying interest on the capital expended for their education.
For this purpose, however, the guests must be chosen as carefully as the wine. "Standing aside from the revellers in the shadow of a massive pillar was an interested spectator who was assuredly of the feast, and yet not in it. Monsieur Aristide Saucourt was the CHEF of the Grand Sybaris Hotel, and if he had an equal in his profession he had never acknowledged the fact.
Thus far had human effort laboured to achieve the desired result; the rest had been left to human genius the genius of Aristide Saucourt. "And now the moment had arrived for the serving of the great dish, the dish which world-weary Grand Dukes and market-obsessed money magnates counted among their happiest memories. And at the same moment something else happened.
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