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The rabbit was caught in the moment of leaping out of a saucepan. He wore a hat at a jaunty angle, a collar and a tie. A brilliant red sash was tied about his waist. On his front paw, he balanced a bottle of wine.
Such was the wooden sign on the outside wall.
It was a little stone cottage located on the Rue des Saules, in the heart of Montemartre. Picasso drank here in his youth and popularized the place with a self-portrait. Modigliani, Utrillo, Apollinaire – all had gathered here. It was a meeting place of artists, poets, and playwrights.
Established before the Paris Commune, it had gone through a number of
names before finding its true identity - the Cabaret au Lapin Agile.
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Inside, patrons sat at long wooden tables, sampling the local vintage. The chanteur hopped and pranced with a swagger in his step, and a twinkle in his eye. His accompanist, a large man, stood to one side, playing an accordion.
Je vous demande pardon, messieurs dames,
D’avoir l’air inquiet et confus
C’est que j’ai perdu, ah, quel drame !
La chose à quoi je tenais l’ plus …
Looking worried and confused
It’s because I lost, ah, what a tragedy!
The thing I cared about most... ]
At the chorus, the audience sang along.
Je cherche après Titine
Titine, ah Titine !
Je cherche après Titine
Et je ne la trouve pas …
[I'm looking for Titine
Titine, ah Titine!
I'm looking for Titine
And I cannot find her...]
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Rose watched from the corner of the room. She stood by the mantle, smiling and sipping her sherry.
The French have a phrase. Joie de vivre. The joy of life. More than the mere experience of happiness, it is an approach to life with all its pleasure and pain. Everyone here had experienced loss, and certainly all had losses yet to come. But here, at this moment, in the Eternal Present, there was laughter and music and dance.
The chanteur hushed the audience and began the second verse with a mischievous grin. He was the trickster, the magician, weaving together the attention of the assembled into a cohesive whole.
Mais qu’est-ce que je vois dans la salle
C’est ma Titine certainement
Elle va sûrement faire un scandale
En me traitant de vieux chenapan …
[But what do I see in the room
It’s definitely my Titine
She will surely cause a scandal
By calling me an old rascal...]
The crowd listened expectantly. Some chuckled softly. Everyone smiled. With the next chorus, the room again erupted in song. Rose joined in the singing, adding her voice to the community of spirit.
Je cherche après Titine
Titine, ah Titine !
Je cherche après Titine
Et je ne la trouve pas
Je cherche après Titine
Titine, ah Titine !
Je cherche après Titine
Et je ne la trouve pas
Ah, maman ! Ah, papa !