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Presented  to  the 
LIBRARY  of  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 

by 

A-    F.   V.    Clark 


International 

University 
Booksellers   Ltd. 


94  Gower  Street 
London 
W.C.  i 


THE     INFLUENCE    OF    BAUDELAIRE 


THE   INFLUENCE    OF 

BAUDELAIRE 


IN  FRANCE  AND   ENGLAND 


BY 


G.  TURQUET-MILNES 


LONDON 

CONSTABLE  AND   COMPANY   LTD. 
1913 


PREFACE 

\ 

THE  critic's  part  is  to  listen  to  the  echoes  of  a  soul  (the 
soul  of  a  thinker  or  artist)  as  they  sound  through  the 
world.  Doubtless  his  first  duty  is  to  study  at  once  the 
author  he  wishes  to  reveal  to  the  public.  But  criticism 
as  understood  in  these  days  has  far  too  great  a  tendency 
to  develop  into  a  study  'of  pathological  psychology,  and 
the  critics  are  at  pains  to  prove  with  mathematical 
precision  that  Goethe  was  a  '  superior  degenerate,' 
Flaubert  a  neurotic,  Edgar  Poe  a  drunkard.  Does  that 
explain  why  these  three  writers  had  so  great  an 
influence  ? 

Sainte-Beuve  discovered  that  there  existed  '  families  of 
minds.'  Quite  so — if  we  understand  by  that  that  it  is 
impossible  to  isolate  a  writer  from  his  age.  But  if 
genius  is  a  product,  a  product  of  its  race,  its  surroundings, 
and  its  times,  it  is  also,  and  above  all,  a  cause.  Genius, 
through  its  own  power,  creates  its  own  surroundings — 
that  is  what  Taine  would  not  see. 

Baudelaire  seems  to  us  essentially  the  writer  who, 
though  he  shows  us  the  times  and  the  surroundings  in 
which  he  lived,  above  all  shows  us  the  strength  of  the 
genius  who  imposes  himself  on  the  world,  of  the  man 
but  for  whose  life,  but  for  whose  work,  the  world  would 


vi         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

in   some   way,    great   or   small,    have   been    other    than 
it  is. 

His  influence  has  been  maintained  through  fifty  years 
of  literary  history,  and  we  have  found  pleasure  in  listen- 
ing, in  the  works  of  later  writers,  for  the  magic  echoes 
of  the  voice  that  is  still. 


CONTENTS 

/ 

PART  I 

PAGE 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  ...         3 

PART  II 
BAUDELAIRE  ........       21 

PART  III 
PREDECESSORS  OF  BAUDELAIRE  :— 

I.  EDGAR  POE       ......       63 

II.  SAINTE-BEUVE  ......       73 

III.  ALOYSIUS  BERTRAND    .....        80 

IV.  PETRUS  BOREL  .  .  .  .  .  .102 

V.  THEOPHILE  GAUTIER    .  .  .  .  .116 

PART  IV 
POSTERITY  OF  BAUDELAIRE  : — 

I.   VlLLIERS  DE   L'lSLE  ADAM        .  .          •     .  .123 

II.  BARBEY  D'AUREVILLY  .  .  .  .  -135 

III.  VERLAINE          .           .  .  (  .  .      146 

IV.  TRISTAN  CORBIERE       .  .  .  .^  .160 
V.  HUYSMANS          .           .  .  .  .  .165 

VI.  MAURICE  ROLLINAT      .  .  .  .          .176 

VII.   RODENBACH          .  .  .  .  .  .184 

VIII.  MALLARM£         ......      194 

IX.  ALBERT  S AMAIN  .....      200 

X.  JULES  LAFORGUE          .  .  .  .          .206 

XI.  LIVING  POETS    .          .          .          .          .          .213 


viii       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

PART  V 

PAGE 

THE  BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND  :— 

I.  INTRODUCTORY  ....'..      219 
II.  SWINBURNE       .          ,.          .          '.  .        ,  .      222 

III.  ARTHUR  O'SHAUGHNESSY       ....      230 

IV.  OSCAR  WILDE   .  .  .  .  .          .      237 

V.  CONTEMPORARY  WRITERS       .  .  .  .249 

PART  VI 
THE  BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING         .  .  .265 

PART  VII 
THE  BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  Music   ....      283 

CONCLUSION  .......      288 

BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE      .  .  .  .  .  .291 

INDEX  ........      299 


PART  I 


DEVELOPMENT   OF 
THE    BAUDELAIRIAN    SPIRIT 


THERE  exists  a  state  of  mind,  or  rather  a  manner  of  feeling, 
which  has  grown  upon  a  great  number  of  nineteenth- 
century  writers.  The  critics  and  the  public — without 
coming  to  a  mutual  understanding  about  it — gave  it  the 
name  of  *  Baudelairism,'  doubtless  because  Baudelaire  is 
certainly  the  writer  who  was  most  intimately  acquainted 
with,  and  who  most  experienced  those  subtle  and  intricate 
feelings,  the  expression  of  which  we  find  in  the  works  of 
a  large  number  of  nineteenth-century  writers. 

The  fact  that  he  founded  a  literary  school  which  to  this 
day  has  many  disciples  would  alone  serve  as  a  justifica- 
tion for  undertaking  this  study. 

But  the  few  moralists  who  have  studied  Baudelaire's 
work  have  been  able  to  see  in  it  nothing  but  a  kind  of 
love  of  evil  and  a  theory  of  decadence.  If  we  must 
recognise  that  such  a  criticism  may  apply  to  a  few 
disciples  of  Baudelaire,  yet  it  appears  to  us  to  be  a  duty 
to  demur  forthwith  to  such  an  ingenuous  theory. 

Here  again,  in  the  search  for  precise  terms,  truth  has 
been  passed  over. 

The  sentiments  of  men  and  women  are  so  complex,  they 
come,  they  throng  in  upon  us  with  such  rapidity,  and  in 
such  vast  numbers,  that  it  were  really  too  presumptuous  to 
wish  to  tie  them  down  into  some  little  formula. 

Perhaps  such  an  indiscriminate  view  would  have  been 
avoided  if  the  critics  had  sought  to  discover  the  causes  of 


4          THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

this  state  of  mind,  when,  having  discovered  them,  they 
would  have  found  themselves  in  the  company  of  such 
essentially  reasonable  and  in  nowise  decadent  writers  as 
Benjamin  Constant,  Alfred  de  Vigny,  and  Sainte-Beuve. 

Finding  themselves  in  this  way  in  the  presence  of  men, 
they  would  have  been  in  the  presence  of  reality,  and 
would  have  had  less  chance  of  being  led  into  error  than 
by  following  the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  their  imagination — 
christened  for  the  occasion  '  spirit  of  criticism.' 

For  whomsoever  would  understand  Baudelaire,  the  first 
book  to  be  taken  is  Benjamin  Constant's  Adolphe. 

Benjamin  Constant's  Adolphe,  like  Voltaire's  Candide, 
or  the  Abbe  Prevost's  Manon  Lescaut,  is  one  of  those 
little  books  that  travel  through  the  ages  with  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  ravages  of  time. 

It  is  now  nearly  a  hundred  years  since  it  was  written, 
and  it  remains  as  true  and  as  living  as  on  its  first  appear- 
ance. Such  an  accent  of  truth  passes  through  it  that  no 
psychologist  can  afford  to  ignore  it.  At  the  end  of  his 
little  book  the  author  says  : — 

'  I  hate  that  vanity  which  is  occupied  with  itself  in  recounting  the 
evil  it  has  wrought,  which  under  pretence  of  gaining  pity  describes 
itself,  and  which  towering  among  ruins  analyses  itself  instead  of 
repenting.' 

Now,  that  is  precisely  what  Benjamin  Constant  did 
himself  in  his  story,  and  what  Baudelaire  later  on  was  to 
do  so  well. 

M.  Paul  Bourget  devoted  a  study  to  Adolphe,  which  is 
so  acute  that  we  would  wish  to  quote  it  in  its  entirety. 
We  will  content  ourselves,  however,  with  quoting  a  few 
essential  sentences  which  will  allow  us  in  our  turn  to  go 
a  little  further. 

1  It  would  seem  that  this  detestable  acuteness  of  conscience  cannot 
be  dulled  even  by  the  burning  dissolving  joy  of  a  most  keenly  felt 
passion.  It  might  even  be  said  that  therein  lies  the  whole  drama 


DEVELOPMENT  5 

of  Adolphe :  the  continual  destruction  of  Love  by  analysis  in  the 
young  man's  heart,  and  the  continual  effort  on  his  mistress's  part  to 
reconstruct  by  dint  of  passion  and  tenderness  that  feeling  which 
she  sees  decaying.  When  he  is  with  her  he  begins  again  to  love 
her;  when  he  is  far  from  her  he  becomes  once  more  bent  upon 
destroying  his  own  emotion,  till  Elleonore,  at  the  end  of  this  singular 
contest  which  is  wellnigh  unintelligible  for  her,  feels  that  infinite 
lassitude  which  makes  her  long  for  death.  She  has  spent  years 
intoxicating  herself  with  her  love,  believing  herself  intoxicated  with 
the  love  of  them  both.  This  is  almost  Adolphe's  formula.  She 
understands  it,  she  feels  it,  and  she  writes  that  heart-breaking  letter  : 
*  "  Pourquoi  vous  acharncz-vous  sur  mot?"  .  .  .' 

It  seems  to  us  that  M.  Bourget  might  have  gone 
further,  and  said  that  the  whole  drama  of  Adolphe  lies 
not  only  in  the  continual  destruction  of  the  love  in  the 
young  man's  heart  by  analysis,  but  in  the  continual 
reconstruction  of  this  love  by  the  young  man. 

Away  from  his  mistress,  Adolphe  knows  that  he  causes 
her  suffering,  and  is  sorry  for  it,  then  he  comes  back  to 
her  in  a  great  impulse  of  love. 

'At  the  same  time  I  was  horribly  afraid  of  hurting  her.  The 
moment  I  saw  a  pained  expression  on  her  face,  her  will  was  mine. 
I  was  only  at  my  ease  when  she  was  pleased  with  me.  When,  after 
insisting  upon  the  necessity  of  going  away  for  a  few  minutes,  I  had 
succeeded  in  leaving  her,  the  idea  of  the  pain  I  had  caused  her 
followed  me  everywhere.  I  was  seized  with  a  fever  of  remorse  that 
grew  momentarily  stronger,  and  which  finally  became  irresistible; 
I  flew  back  to  her,  looking  forward  to  consoling  and  pacifying  her.' 

And  the  tragic  story  goes  on  with  what  I  would  venture 
to  call  the  very  switchback  of  love. 

In  the  end  all  that  remains  is  the  pleasure  Adolphe  finds 
in  analysing  himself. 

Now,  herein  lies  a  psychological  problem  so  important, 
that  we  must  pause  for  a  little  to  consider  it. 

The  majority  of  philosophers  have  remarked  upon  that 
curious  state  of  mind  in  which  a  sufferer  rejoices  in  his 
suffering  which  he  analyses,  and  in  reality  admires. 


6          THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

The  most  recent  of  these,  Herbert  Spencer,  in  the 
second  volume  of  his  Psychology^-  analyses  those  feelings 
which  he  calls  '  the  luxury  of  pity  and  the  luxury  of  pain.' 
We  quote  one  of  the  passages,  though  submitting  at  once 
that  we  only  accept  Herbert  Spencer's  explanation  for  a 
certain  number  of  cases,  and  that  had  he  read  Adolphe^ 
he  would  have  given  a  more  complete  explanation  : — 

*  All  those  cases  where  the  luxury  of  pity  is  experienced  are  cases 
where  the  person  pitied  has  been  brought  by  illness  or  by  misfortune 
of  some  kind  to  a  state  which  excites  this  love  of  the  helpless. 
Hence  the  painful  consciousness  which  sympathy  produces  is  com- 
bined with  the  pleasurable  consciousness  constituted  by  the  tender 
emotion.  Verification  of  this  view  is  afforded  by  sundry  interpreta- 
tions it  yields.  Though  the  saying  that  "  pity  is  akin  to  love  "  is  not 
true  literally,  since  in  their  intrinsic  natures  the  two  are  quite  unlike, 
yet  that  the  two  are  so  associated  that  pity  tends  to  excite  love  is  a 
truth  forming  part  of  the  general  truth  above  set  forth.  That 
pleasure  is  found  in  reading  a  melancholy  story  or  witnessing  a 
tragic  drama  is  also  a  fact  which  ceases  to  appear  strange,  and  we 
get  a  key  to  the  seeming  anomaly  that  very  often  one  who  confers 
benefits  feels  more  affection  for  the  person  benefited  than  the  person 
benefited  feels  for  him.' 

At  first  sight  we  are  inclined  to  agree  with  Herbert 
Spencer,  and  to  content  ourselves  with  his  explanation, 
but  when  we  come  to  think  of  Adolphe  we  see  that  this 
explanation  does  not  cover  all  the  phenomena. 

Adolphe  is  essentially  an  egoist ;  Benjamin  Constant 
enjoyed  the  egoistic  pleasure  of  pity.  This  man  who  seeks 
to  kill  the  love  he  feels,  and  in  which  he  is  as  it  were 
immersed,  and  who  then  works  himself  into  '  a  fever  from 
fear  of  not  seeing  her  whom  he  loves,'  this  man  who  is 
continually  analysing  himself,  who  loves  sorrow  for 
sorrow's  sake,  and  enjoys  at  once  the  luxury  of  pity  and 
the  luxury  of  pain — this  man  brings  us  to  an  explanation 
of  these  phenonema  quite  different  from  that  of  Spencer. 

Before  explaining  them  we  should  recognise  that  they 
1  pp.  624-9. 


DEVELOPMENT  7 

are  very  well  known,  only  Adolphe  was  able  to  analyse 
them,  and  analysed  them  most  admirably. 

Let  us  have  recourse  to  our  own  daily  observation. 
We  all  know  people,  among  our  relatives  or  among  our 
friends,  who  take  pleasure  in  tormenting  themselves,  and 
who  never  seem  really  happy  unless  they  have  a  pretext 
for  being  sad.  We  also  know  people  in  whom  pity  is  not 
unaccompanied  by  a  hint  of  malevolence.  La  Rochefou- 
cauld declares  that  in  the  misfortune  of  our  dearest  friends 
there  is  something  which  is  not  displeasing  to  us.  And 
with  this  idea  of  La  Rochefoucauld's  should  be  compared 
Tolstoy's  remark  in  his  Memoirs,  where  he  says,  speaking 
of  a  girl :  '  She  pleased  me  so  much  that  I  felt  an  irresistible 
desire  to  do  or  say  something  that  would  be  disagreeable 
to  her.' 

Shall  we  also  quote  Shelley,  who  writes  in  the  Defence 
of  Poetry  : — 

'  Tragedy  delights  by  affording  a  shadow  of  the  pleasure  which 
exists  in  pain.  This  is  the  source  also  of  the  melancholy  which  is 
inseparable  from  the  sweetest  melody.  The  pleasure  that  is  in 
sorrow  is  sweeter  than  the  pleasure  of  pleasure  itself.  And  hence 
the  saying  :  "  It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to  the 
house  of  mirth."' 

Again,  we  remember  the  exclamation  of  Alfred  de 
Musset:  '  How  does  it  come  to  pass  that  there  exists  in  us 
something  that  loves  unhappiness?' 

We  see  then  that  the  phenomenon  is  well  known. 
Further  proofs  can  be  found  in  consulting  records  of 
trials  ;  it  will  be  frequently  found  that  man  will  harm  that 
which  he  loves,  merely  for  the  sake  of  watching  its 
suffering. 

The  famous  George  Selwyn — the  living  embodiment 
of  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam's  convive  des  dernieres  fetes — 
is  another  example  of  the  same  phenomenon. 

How  then  shall  we  explain  this?  Just  as  our  soul 
is  in  nowise  immutable,  but  is  open  to  evolution  and 


8          THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

modification,  even  so  is  our  mind  a  great  battlefield  where 
all  our  feelings  struggle  against  one  another  with  a  tend- 
ency to  destroy  each  other. 

In  Adolphe — as  in  all  men — the  various  states  of  mind 
are  at  issue  with  one  another.  Adolphe  is  at  once  love 
and  hatred,  just  as  we  at  once  are  good  and  evil. 
Benjamin  Constant  is  in  love  and  suffers,  which  is  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  :  because  love  makes 
us  doubt  even  of  the  most  proven  facts  ;  because  love 
engenders  doubts  of  love.  That  Adolphe  should  take 
pleasure  in  his  pain,  that  he  should  analyse  it,  delight  in 
it,  that  he  should  now  love  and  now  hate,  is  an  entirely 
probable  state  in  the  eyes  of  the  psychologist  for  whom 
conditions  of  mind  are  neither  precise  nor  immutable. 

Let  us  take  the  most  commonplace  example.  If  the 
spectacle  of  a  tragic  drama  affords  us  pleasure,  it  is  because 
the  representation  we  make  of  it  for  ourselves  has  not 
suspended  all  activity  of  our  mind  ;  it  has  engaged  in  a 
contest  with  other  states  of  mind,  and  the  crash  of  discord 
has  resulted  into  harmony,  and  it  is  this  harmony  which 
makes  us  find  pleasure  in  pain. 

When  there  is  suspension  of  all  activity  of  mind,  as  the 
result  of  a  truly  great  sorrow,  such  as  the  death  of  some 
one  we  have  loved,  then  there  is  really  suffering,  because 
there  is  no  longer  a  struggle.'1  In  the  same  way,  in  great 
love,  in  that  love  which  is  stronger  than  death,  there  is 
again  no  contest.  Love  reigns  as  a  master,  to  the 
destruction  of  all  other  feelings. 

We  repeat,  pity  is  far  from  being  always  generous. 
The  well-known  lines  of  Lucretius,  '  Suave  mart  magno, 
well  point  out  how  great  is  the  struggle  within  us  in  those 
complex  feelings  where  pleasure  is  mingled  with  pain. 
Sorrow  tries  to  disorganise  a  habit  of  mind,  to  disturb  the 

1  Cp.  D.  G.  Rossetti,  '  Woodspurge ' : — 

'  For  perfect  grief  there  need  not  be 
Wisdom  or  even  memory.  ..." 


DEVELOPMENT  9 

quiet  of  the  soul,  and  does  not  entirely  succeed,  and  the 
resulting  state  gives  us  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 

Now,  in  an  artist,  in  a  man,  that  is  to  say,  whose  senses 
are  sharpened,  these  feelings  may  be  subtilised  by  reflec- 
tion till  they  border  on  perversion.  And  that  is  exactly 
what  happens  with  many  of  Baudelaire's  disciples,  and 
from  time  to  time  with  Baudelaire  himself.  The  boundary- 
line  between  such  complex  feelings  is  so  fugitive  that  it  is 
impossible  for  a  writer  not  to  cross  the  frontier. 


II.  SAINTE-BEUVE. 

The  case  of  Sainte-Beuve,  who  is  the  second  stage  in 
the  approach  to  Baudelaire,  seems  to  be,  curiously  enough, 
a  natural  consequence  of  what  we  have  just  advanced,  or 
rather  suggested. 

Man  needs  a  guiding  principle,  in  accordance  with  which 
all  the  elements  of  his  mind  shall  be  regulated,  which  gives 
to  his  impressions  that  spiritual  guidance  which  enables 
him  to  judge  them,  to  declare  them  good  or  bad,  and  to 
experience  from  them  either  pleasure  or  pain.  '  By  the 
law  is  knowledge  of  sin/  says  Saint  Paul. 

Now,  Sainte-Beuve's  novel  Volupte  will  enable  us  to 
penetrate  into  one  of  the  most  eminent  and  one  of  the 
most  curious  minds  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  will 
bring  us  closer  to  the  mind  of  Baudelaire.  Here,  again, 
we  shall  be  the  spectators  of  a  struggle,  the  struggle 
between  luxury  and  morality,  a  spectacle  which  will  make 
us  better  able  to  understand,  later  on,  the  anguish  of  the 
author  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai. 

Sainte-Beuve  had  received  a  deeply  religious  education, 
to  which  he  was  ultimately  to  owe  the  power  of  writing 
his  masterpiece  Port  Royal.  But,  on  leaving  college  (and 
perhaps  even  before  then),  he  was  preoccupied  by  the  idea 
of  pleasure,  and  soon  the  idea  of  luxury  entered  into  his 
soul  never  to  leave  it  again. 


io         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

*  From  seventeen  to  eighteen,'  says  Amaury — that  is,  Sainte-Beuve, 
— '  this  fixed  idea  of  the  voluptuous  side  of  things  never  left  me. 
But  one  day  I  got  into  my  head  the  suspicion  that  I  was  afflicted 
with  a  kind  of  ugliness  which  would  rapidly  increase  and  disfigure 
me ;  an  icy  despair  followed  upon  this  so-called  discovery.  .  .  .  When 
I  was  with  the  young  men  of  my  acquaintance  I  was  continually 
comparing  myself  with  them,  and  envying  the  most  foolish  coun- 
tenances.' 

Thus  we  find  Sainte-Beuve  throwing  himself  desperately 
into  excess  from  pure  rage. 

Yet,  and  this  is  the  important  point,  excesses,  far  from 
destroying  his  soul,  that  soul  which  his  mother  had  given 
so  much  thought  to  fashioning  with  her  careful  pious 
hands,  refined  it  and  enabled  him  to  make  a  great  dis- 
covery. Sainte-Beuve  is  certainly  the  Amerigo  Vespucci 
of  that  America  of  which  Baudelaire  was  the  Christopher 
Columbus. 

'After  the  first  stupefaction  ...  it  came  about  that  I  gained 
great  knowledge,  the  subtle  recognition  of  good  and  evil,  ...  a 
mysterious  and  dearly-bought  analysis  taught  me  daily  some  new 
quality  in  our  double  nature,  and  the  abuse  I  was  making  of  both 
sides  of  it,  and  the  secret  of  their  union.  Knowledge  in  itself 
sterile  and  powerless,  at  once  instrument  and  lot  of  punishment.  I 
understand  better  what  man  is,  what  I  am,  and  what  I  leave  behind 
as  I  penetrate  further  along  the  paths  that  lead  to  death.' 

So  then,  the  new  idea  that  Sainte-Beuve  brings  us,  and 
which  helps  us  to  the  better  understanding  of  Baudelaire, 
is  this  :  A  system  of  morality,  religious  practices,  far  from 
being  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  sin  and  the  delight  in  sin, 
may  even  on  the  contrary  be  found  to  be  an  aid  to  the 
delight  in  sin. 

This  fact  which  may  appear  paradoxical  explains  itself 
quite  well,  if  the  conditions  in  which  the  pleasure  or  the 
pain  are  produced  have  been  fully  understood. 

The  horror  of  sin  is  one  of  the  conditions  favourable  to 
the  experiencing  of  the  love  of  sin,  always  provided  that 


DEVELOPMENT  n 

the  horror  is  sufficiently  weakened,  either  by  the  violence 
of  passion  or  by  the  pleasure  of  analysis.  Stendhal's 
well-known  story  of  the  Italian  lady  who  said  to  him  one 
day  :  'Voila  un  bon  sorbet,  neanmoins  il  serait  meilleur 
s'il  etait  un  peche  ! '  is  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  theory 
we  are  putting  forward. 

And  there  again  is  the  reason — let  it  be  acknowledged 
forthwith — why  so  many  '  baudelairising  '  writers  were,  or 
became,  Catholics. 

Barbey  d'Aurevilly  wished  to  become  a  believer.  He 
wrote  to  Baudelaire  after  reading  the  Fleurs  du  Mai: 
'  There  are  only  two  things  for  the  poet  who  produced 
these  blossoms  to  do :  either  blow  his  brains  out  or 
become  Christian. '  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  was  a  Catholic, 
just  as  M.  Pelladan  is,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  Doubtless 
the  Catholicism  of  these  writers  is  a  troubled  thing,  in 
which  priests  would  refuse  to  discover  any  Christianity  at 
all ;  but  enough  of  this  Catholicism  exists  to  impose  a  rule, 
and  this  rule  in  its  turn  enables  them  to  obtain  more 
enjoyment  from  their  sensations. 

This  search  for  sensation  necessarily  led — in  the  realm 
of  language — to  the  most  remarkable  revolution  in  style 
ever  seen  since  the  seventeenth  century,  and  in  the  realm 
of  ideas,  to  mysticism  and  occultism  on  the  one  hand,  and 
to  perversion  on  the  other. 

At  first  Baudelaire  was  ranged  among  the  Parnassians, 
and  indeed  it  is  to  them  that  he  belonged  with  his  theory 
of  the  superiority  of  form  over  content,  with  his  profound 
indifference  to  everything  that  is  not  picture,  rhyme,  or 
cadence. 

But  when  the  Symbolist  school  appeared,  declaring  that 
the  Parnassians'  day  was  over,  because  they  lacked  mystery, 
how  comes  it  that  Baudelaire  became  the  idolised  master 
before  whom  were  sacrificed  the  books  of  his  friends  and 
contemporaries  ? 

The   reason   is    that  with    Baudelaire    the    pursuit   of 


12         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

sensation  had  led  him  to  this  discovery  :  Les  formes,  les 
couleurs,  et  les  sons  se  repondent. 

Henceforth  the  art  of  the  poet  consisted  in  discovering 
those  mysterious  '  correspondences '  which  exist  between 
all  things.  This  was  at  one  stroke  to  renew  the  inspira- 
tion of  all  French  poetry. 

An  art  of  decadence  say  some,  an  art  of  renaissance  say 
others — in  any  case  an  art  which  is  singularly  interesting, 
and  an  admirable  expression  of  its  age. 

When  Stephane  Mallare  wrote, 

*  To  name  an  object  is  to  suppress  three-quarters  of  the  power  of 
the  poem  which  consists  in  the  delight  in  guessing  little  by  little ; 
to  suggest,  that  is  the  dream.  It  is  the  perfect  employment  of  this 
mystery  which  constitutes  the  symbol :  little  by  little  to  evoke  an 
object,  to  show  a  state  of  the  soul,  or  inversely  to  choose  an  object 
and  from  it  evolve  a  state  of  mind  by  a  series  of  decipherings,' 

what  was  he  doing  if  not  continuing  in  the  footsteps  of 
Baudelaire? 

The  whole  theory  of  the  symbolists  is  contained  in 
Baudelaire  :  for  with  these  poets  the  great  aim  is  to  force 
Nature  to  deliver  up  her  secret,  to  reveal  what  lies  hid, 
under  the^diversity  of  things  :  'Les  formes,  les  couleurs,  et 
les  sons  se  repondent. ' 

Was  it  not  Baudelaire  who  found  in  colour,  harmony, 
melody  and  counterpoint  ? 

Here  again  modern  art  has  undergone  the  influence  of 
this  theory :  we  see  it  in  some  of  the  latter-day  pictures, 
or  in  those  orchestrations  where  the  strident  brass  drowns 
the  softer  voices  of  violin  or  flute. 

Arthur  Rimbaud's  famous  sonnet  which  has  been  so 
much  held  up  to  derision,  '  A  noir,  E  blanc,  I  rouge, 
U  vert,  O  bleu,'  etc.,  what  was  it  but  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  the  Baudelairian  theory  ? 

And  without  going  any  further — if  we  take  the  book  of 
the  moment,  Marie  Claire,  by  Marguerite  Audoux,  we  find 


DEVELOPMENT  13 

that  her  most  original  expressions  are  such  as  to  rejoice 
the  heart  of  every  Baudelairian : — 

'  Je  trouvai  que  ses  paroles  avaient  une  odeur  insupportable.  En 
la  regardant — je  pensais  a  un  puits  profond  et  noir  qui  aurait  ete 
plein  d'eau  chaudc? 

1  Les  formes ;  les  couleurs,  les  sons  se  repondent.' 

What  could  be  more  natural  than  that  such  an  art 
should  please  in  our  age?  On  the  one  hand,  the  excess 
of  naturalism  with  the  Zola  school  was  bound  to  produce 
a  violent  reaction  and  make  the  success  of  Baudelairism. 
The  eye  that  has  long  seen  nothing  but  red  is  only  too 
ready  to  see  everything  green. 

But  the  actual  life  of  the  present  day  is  far  too  brutal, 
and  Science  herself  far  too  pessimistic  for  the  soul  not 
to  feel  the  need  of  taking  refuge,  as  Baudelaire  says, 
*  anywhere,  out  of  the  world.* 

There  are  no  longer  monasteries  as  in  the  age  of  the 
barbaric  invasions  where  a  tender,  sensitive  soul  could 
withdraw,  but,  as  with  Alfred  de  Vigny  and  Baudelaire, 
there  are  minds  who  have  made  for  themselves  an  ivory 
tower,  an  ideal  cloister  where  they  can  take  refuge  from 
Voeil  des  Barbares. 

And  here  we  see  the  reason  why  this  poetry  has  re- 
mained the  realm  of  the  lettered.  The  Beauty  worshipped 
of  these  men  is  not  the  ideal  of  the  man  in  the  street.  In 
this  utilitarian  world  of  ours  they  seek  out  the  pure, 
immaculate  goddess — whom  the  dreamers  of  the  Middle 
Ages  incarnated  in  Helen. 

*  Ce  ne  seront  jamais  ces  beautes  de  vignettes, 
Produits  avaries,  nds  d'un  siecle  vaurien, 
Ces  pieds  a  brodequins,  ces  doigts  a  castagnettes, 
Qui  sauront  satisfaire  un  coeur  comme  le  mien.' — L Ideal. 

'  Je  suis  belle,  o  mortels  !  comme  un  reve  de  pierre, 
Et  mon  sein,  cm  chacun  s'est  meurtri  a  son  tour, 
Est  fait  pour  inspirer  au  poete  un  amour 
Eternel  et  muet  ainsi  que  la  matiere. 


i4         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Je  trone  dans  1'azur  comme  un  sphinx  incompris, 
J'unis  un  coeur  de  neige  a  la  blancheur  des  cygnes  ; 
Je  hais  le  mouvement  qui  deplace  les  lignes  ; 
Et  jamais  je  ne  pleure  et  jamais  je  ne  ris.' — La  Beautt. 

This  desire  for  beauty  is  nothing  else  than  the  longing 
for  harmony  which  always  exists  deep  down  in  our  nature, 
and  which  manifests  itself  the  more  forcibly  in  proportion 
as  our  beliefs  are  more  dispersed  and  less  satisfying. 

Scientific  positivism  has  created  a  world  which  is  far  too 
simple,  and  from  that  springs  the  desire  to  discover  an 
underlying,  vast,  unknowable  world  of  which  we  can 
doubtless  say  nothing,  but  which  satisfies  our  innate 
desire  to  live  with  beauty. 

And  in  this  way  we  have  come  back  to  the  methods  of 
our  ancestors.  So  do  the  centuries  join  hands  !  Primitive 
nations  expressed  their  cosmogonies  in  poems. 

The  only  reproach  that  can  be  made  is,  that  in  certain 
cases  this  pursuit  of  sensation  was  really  artificial,  or  if  it 
was  not  completely  so  at  first,  became  so  later  on  when 
the  seekers  had  recourse  to  opium  and  hashish. 


III.  ALFRED  DE  VIGNY. 

We  have  already  said  that  if  moral  faith  is  needed  to  make 
a  sin  appear  pleasing,  yet  at  the  same  time  this  faith  must 
be  in  a  somewhat  weakened  state.  This  brings  us  to  the 
third  stage  before  arriving  at  Baudelaire. 

Alfred  de  Vigny  is  certainly  the  romantic  poet  (i.e.  of 
the  precursors  of  Baudelaire),  who  reflected  most,  and 
whose  pessimism  is  the  most  overwhelming. 

Victor  Hugo  supplements  lack  of  thought  by  the  rich- 
ness of  his  images,  and  even  if  we  grant  him  the  title  of 
thinker,  he  did  little  more  than  reflect  the  opinion  of  each 
decade  he  passed  through.  Alfred  de  Vigny,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  a  truly  original  genius,  and  with  him  vigour  of 
thought  always  compensates  weakness  of  expression. 


DEVELOPMENT  15 

In  order  to  understand  fully  the  originality  of  his 
thought,  we  must  remember  that  when  he  was  writing 
(and  how  many  writers  of  our  own  day  hold  the  same 
idea  !),  the  favourite  theory  was  that  which  the  eighteenth 
century  had  promulgated  with  such  pomp.  Nature  was 
good,  she  was  a  mother  ;  an  unconscious  one  doubtless, 
but  one  who  watched  over  our  lives.  Man  was  born 
good  ;  it  was  religion  with  its  shackles  and  its  super- 
stitions that  had  made  him  wicked.  Do  away  with 
religion,  and  forthwith  the  golden  age  would  appear  on 
earth. 

Together  with  this  theory  there  was  that  Christian  belief 
which  the  Genie  du  Chris  tianisme^  the  works  of  Bonald 
and  Joseph  de  Maistre,  the  influence  of  Lamenais  and  of 
Lacordaire,  the  early  poetry  of  Lamartine  had,  as  it  were, 
revivified. 

Now,  Alfred  de  Vigny  was  one  of  the  first — and  certainly 
the  first  poet — to  say  (and  this  is  why  he  is  still  read  to-day) 
that  the  universe  offers  us  in  place  of  that  harmony  attri- 
buted to  it,  nothing  other  than  a  distressing  spectacle. 
Herein  he  came  near  the  Catholics.  If  he  had  only 
repeated  in  French  verse  the  melancholy  music  of 
Ecclesiastes,  he  would  still  be  a  great  poet,  but  he  would 
not  be  what  he  is.  But  happily  for  him  he  came  on  the 
eve  of  the  publication  of  Darwin's  book,  in  which  his 
readers  found  a  confirmation  of  the  pessimistic  doctrine, 
so  deeply  had  that  doctrine  penetrated  all  minds.  From 
that  moment  Alfred  de  Vigny  was  hailed  as  Thinker. 

Darwin  was  always  a  deist ;  doubtless  he  was  grateful 
to  God  for  having  created  a  universe  that  fitted  in  so  well 
with  his  theory. 

But  the  French  poet,  impatient  of  any  yoke,  saw  only 
the  brutal  side  of  his  theory  and  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence. In  this  way  the  power  of  religion  was  growing 
steadily  weaker  and  weaker,  and  if  science  became  the 
religion  of  such  men  as  Renan  or  Taine,  a  moral  anarchy 


16         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

was  established  in  those  minds  which  had  no  taste  for 
scientific  research.  And  not  only  moral  anarchy,  but  a 
feeling  a  thousand  times  more  painful,  that  of  the  solitude 
of  the  soul. 

If  a  man  belong  to  a  religious  sect,  when  he  can  take 
refuge  in  something  so  definitely  consoling,  he  never 
feels  isolated  :  the  soul  carries  on  with  God  those  im- 
mortal dialogues  which  are  the  mystic  literature  of  the 
ages.  But  when  he  is  separated  by  thought  from  those 
religious  traditions  which  are  like  the  protection  a  father 
gives  to  his  child,  when  he  is  unable  to  believe  in  one  or 
other  deistic  dogma,  then  a  truly  terrible  solitude  grows 
upon  him  :  the  anguish  of  this  emptiness  is  so  fearful,  and 
human  nature  has  such  an  instinctive  horror  of  it,  that 
perhaps  here  we  are  lighting  upon  the  explanation  of  the 
conversion  of  a  Paul  Bourget  or  a  Brunetiere. 

However  that  may  be,  Alfred  de  Vigny  is  the  poet  of 
that  solitude  of  the  soul,  whether  he  be  showing,  as  in 
1  Moise,'  that  genius  is  always  lonely  ;  whether,  as  in  the 
'  Mort  du  Loup,' — that  admirable  poem  of  Stoicism — he 
shows  the  solitude  of  the  persecuted  and  dying  soul ; 
whether,  as  in  the  *  Maison  du  Berger,'  he  shows  the 
solitude  of  the  soul  in  its  happiness  ;  or  whether,  as  in  the 
<  Colere  de  Samson,'  he  shows  the  solitude  of  the  soul  in 
love. 

Solitude  of  the  soul  in  its  happiness,  solitude  of  the 
soul  in  its  love,  is  that  not  already  Baudelaire?  And 
what  does  the  poet  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai  do,  if  not 
explain  in  his  own  way  the  anguish  of  a  soul  for  ever 
in  exile,  in  a  land  which  seems  not  to  be  his  father- 
land? 

And  that  hatred  of  woman, 

4  Car  plus  ou  moins  la  femme  est  toujours  Dalila,' 

do  we  not  find  it  all  through  the  most  immortal  passages 
of  Baudelaire? 


DEVELOPMENT  17 

Let  us  sum  up  : — 

1.  The  faculty  of  self-analysis  and  self-torment  in  love 

(Adolphe). 

2.  Pursuit  of  lust  mingling  with  it  a  kind  of  sacrilegious 

pleasure  (Sainte-Beuve,  Volupte).  Pursuit  of  sensa- 
tion at  any  cost  with  its  inevitable  consequences  : 
perversity  and  madness  on  the  one  hand,  mysticism 
on  the  other  ; — creation  of  a  new  language. 

3.  Moral  anarchy,  overwhelming  pessimism  and  terrible 

solitude  of  the  soul  (A.  de  Vigny). 

Such  in  our  view  are  the  elements  which  constitute  the 
Baudelairian  spirit — they  will  all  be  found  to  a  greater  or 
less  degree  in  the  writers  we  are  going  to  study  here  ;  and 
when  we  have  finished  our  study  we  shall  not  flatter  our- 
selves that  we  have  studied  all  the  minds  which  adorned 
the  nineteenth  century,  but  we  shall  have  studied  those 
who  have  expressed  its  temper,  those  which  make  it 
different  from  the  seventeenth  as  well  as  from  the 
eighteenth  century. 


PART    II 


BAUDELAIRE 

To  say,  as  we  have  just  done,  that  Benjamin  Constant, 
Sainte-Beuve,  Alfred  de  Vigny  explain  Baudelaire  is 
doubtless  the  important  fact  for  a  mind-naturalist.  It 
only  remains  for  him  to  show  the  intimate  connection 
existing  between  Baudelaire  and  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century  and  he  will  feel  he  has  acquitted  his  task  well, 
since  he  will  have  shown  that  Baudelaire  is  the  living 
synthesis  of  some  thirty  years. 

However,  without  neglecting  that  study  of  his  age 
which  we  look  forward  to  making  in  due  course,  we  believe 
that  the  element  really  necessary  in  the  work  of  great 
writers  is  just  that  mysterious  element  that  they  bring 
with  them  at  birth  and  which  they  do  not  owe  to  the 
influence  of  their  milieu. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  side  of  their  talent  in  which  they 
resemble  their  contemporaries,  and  through  which  they 
are  representative  of  their  age  ;  but  it  is  the  side  in  which 
they  are  themselves  which  is  the  interesting  side  for  the 
psychologist,  for  here  something  new  presents  itself — 
a  human  personality  ;  and  that  is  what  the  ordinary 
reader  realises  in  some  way.  What  does  he  demand  of 
the  poet?  The  explanation  of  his  age  ?  Not  in  the  least. 
He  demands  beauty.  It  matters  little  to  him  if  the  work 
be  useless  from  the  social  point  of  view ;  the  important 
question  is,  has  the  artist  produced  a  beautiful  work? 

We  will  allow  ourselves  a  digression  in  order  to  be  the 
better  understood. 

Looking  at  the  masterpieces  of  Watteau,  who  would 

suspect  that  of  the  thirty-seven  years  of  his  life  thirty-one 

21 


22         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

were  passed  under  Louis  xiv.,  at  the  end  of  that  reign 
when  a  great  mourning  veil  seems  to  enfold  the  whole 
of  France  :  with  defeat  following  on  defeat ;  with  religious 
persecution  ;  with  the  people  dying  of  starvation  ;  the 
court's  brilliance  darkened  by  continual  mourning ! 
Watteau  did  not  get  his  nature  from  his  age  ;  he  was  born 
with  a  certain  conception  of  the  beautiful,  and  tried  in 
his  turn  to  express  it  on  his  canvas. 

Even  so,  Baudelaire — though  he  belongs  to  his  age 
much  more  than  Watteau  to  his — was  born  with  a  certain 
temperament,  and,  in  addition,  the  gift  of  style — a  gift 
denied  to  so  many  great  thinkers  ! 

It  is  needless  to  seek  any  influence  that  would  explain 
such  lines  as 

'  Toi  qui  comme  un  coup  de  couteau 
Dans  mon  coeur  plaintif  es  entree,' 
or 

'  Que  m'importe  que  tu  sois  sage 
Sois  belle  et  sois  triste.' 

Such  lines  contain  not  only  the  poet's  whole  mind,  but 
something  else  as  well,  something  mysterious  composed 
of  a  certain  kind  of  temperament  and  a  certain  kind  of 
imagination,  and  which  cannot  be  reduced  in  the  crucible 
of  analysis. 

As  Jules  Lemaitre  has  wittily  said  in  his  criticism  of 
Sainte-Beuve,  the  great  sin  of  Sainte-Beuve  lies  in  his 
being  unable  to  write  verses  that  are  beautiful  enough  on 
the  subject  of  his  love. 

Baudelaire,  on  the  contrary,  has  written  poems  that 
will  live  as  long  as  the  French  language.  Let  us  say 
at  once,  that  the  great  influence  he  has  had  is  above  all 
due  to  his  style,  or  to  his  way  of  feeling  and  expression. 

Having  laid  this  down  we  can  go  forward  to  study  how 
this  feeling  developed,  in  what  surroundings  it  lived,  in  a 
word,  to  study  in  the  following  pages  the  sorrowful  life  of 
Charles  Baudelaire. 


BAUDELAIRE  23 

Baudelaire  was  born  in  Paris  in  1821.  The  most  im- 
portant event  of  his  youth  was  the  death  of  his  father. 
His  mother  soon  married  again,  an  action  which 
Baudelaire  never  forgave  her.  '  On  ne  se  remarie  pas 
lorsqu'on  a  des  enfants  comme  moi,'  he  remarks.  His 
stepfather  sent  him  first  to  the  College  de  Lyon,  and  later 
to  the  lycee  Louis  le  Grand,  and  seems  always  to  have 
cherished  great  hopes  of  Baudelaire's  talents.  Of  his 
school  days  Baudelaire  tells  us  little,  though  the  following 
note  from  Mon  Cceur  mis  a  nu  shows  that  even  at  that 
time  he  had  no  ordinary  temperament :  *  Feeling  of 
solitude  from  my  childhood,  in  spite  of  my  family,  and 
above  all  among  my  comrades — feeling  of  an  eternally 
solitary  destiny.'  His  school  education  was  supplemented 
by  the  influence  of  his  mother,  a  fervid  and  devout 
Catholic,  and  it  is  this  side  of  his  education  which  forms 
the  first  great  influence  in  his  life. 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave  college, 
Baudelaire,  to  the  bitter  disappointment  of  his  parents, 
announced  his  intention  of  adopting  literature  as  his 
profession.  In  their  anxiety  to  persuade  their  son  to 
change  his  mind  his  parents  sent  him  on  a  long  voyage 
to  the  East.  He  was  to  have  gone  as  far  as  Calcutta, 
but  it  seems  probable  that  he  went  no  further  than 
Mauritius  when  he  determined  to  return,  and  this  voyage 
is  the  second  great  influence  in  his  life. 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  Baudelaire  absolutely  refused 
to  change  his  decision  as  regards  his  career,  and  having 
now  attained  his  majority,  sold  his  property,  and  with 
the  proceeds  established  himself  in  Paris  and,  with  his 
naturally  insatiable  curiosity,  set  about  seeing,  observ- 
ing everything.  His  friends  at  this  moment  were  Louis 
Menard,  Le  Vavasseur,  Octave  Feuillet,  Leconte  de 
Lisle,  Pierre  Dupont,  Gerard  de  Nerval,  and  he  was 
acquainted  with  Balzac  and  with  Theophile  Gautier. 

His  voyage,  however,  while  it  failed  to  accomplish  its 


24         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

object,  left  a  lasting  impression  ;  we  see  its  influence  in 
the  numberless  exotic  passages,  and  it  is  the  same  thing 
working  out  in  the  attraction  he  found  in  Jeanne  Duval, 
the  '  Venus  Noire '  who  has  become  an  inseparable  part 
of  the  Baudelaire  legend. 

Baudelaire  met  Jeanne  Duval  in  1842,  when  she  was 
playing  in  some  third-rate  theatre.  Contemporaries  have 
left  conflicting  accounts  of  her,  some  finding  her  neither 
beautiful  nor  graceful,  others  with  Baudelaire  describing 
her  mysterious  beauty  and  her  extraordinary  grace  so  that 
meme  quand  elle  marche  on  croirait  qrfelle  danse. 

Baudelaire,  like  the  hero  of  Rodenbach's  '  Bruges  la 
Morte,'  used  a  living  woman  as  a  means  for  rehabilitating 
the  attractions  of  the  past — this  seems  to  me  the  only 
explanation  of  the  attraction  Jeanne  Duval  held  for  him. 

'  Quand,  les  deux  yeux  fermes,  en  un  soir  chaud  d'automne 
Je  respire  1'odeur  de  ton  sein  chaleureux, 
Je  vois  se  derouler  des  rivages  heureux 
Qu'eblouissent  les  feux  d'un  soleil  monotone  ; 

Une  ile  paresseuse  ou  la  nature  donne 
Des  arbres  singuliers  et  des  fruits  savoureux ; 
Des  hommes  dont  le  corps  est  mince  et  vigoureux, 
Et  des  femmes  dont  Pceil  par  sa  franchise  etonne. 

Guide  par  ton  odeur  vers  de  charmants  climats 
Je  vois  un  port  rempli  de  voiles  et  de  mats, 
Encor  tout  fatigue's  par  la  vague  marine, 

Pendant  que  le  parfum  des  verts  tamariniers,' 

Qui  circule  dans  Pair  et  m'enfle  la  narine, 

Se  mele  dans  mon  ame  au  chant  des  mariniers.5 

And  again  these  lines  from  <  La  Chevelure ' : — 

*  La  langoureuse  Asie  et  la  brulante  Afrique, 
Tout  un  monde  lointain,  absent,  presque  defunt, 
Vit  dans  tes  profondeurs,  foret  aromatique  ! 

N'es-tu  pas  1'oasis  ou  je  reve,  et  la  gourde 
Ou  je  hume  a  longs  traits  le  vin  du  souvenir?' 


BAUDELAIRE  25 

She  is  for  him  the  *  Mere  des  souvenirs,'  and  with  her,  as 
he  says, 

'  Je  sais  1'art  d'eVoquer  les  minutes  heureuses 
Et  revis  mon  passe  blotti  dans  tes  genoux.' 

At  the  time  when  Baudelaire  decided  to  enter  the 
honourable  profession  of  letters  a  change  in  public  taste 
was  beginning  to  appear.  Soniething  of  Wagner's  theory 
of  the  universality  of  the  arts  had  made  its  way  to  Paris.1 
Painting  was  very  much  talked  of  in  literary  circles,  and 
it  is  a  sign  of  the  times  that  it  was  in  the  guise  of  art 
critic  that  Baudelaire  first  came  before  the  public  with  his 
Salon  of  1845.  It  was  a  brilliant  piece  of  criticism — here 
is  no  groping  debutant  seeking  his  way  ;  Baudelaire  was 
instantly  original  and  remarkable  at  once.  The  Salon 
met  with  immediate  success. 

This  success  gained  him  a  position  on  the  Corsaire 
Satan.  In  1845  he  contributed  to  it  two  articles  of 
literary  criticism:  '  Les  contes  normands  de  Jean  de 
Falaise,'  and  *  Romans  contes  et  Voyages  d'Arsene 
Houssaye.'  In  1846,  '  Promethee  delivre  de  N.  de 
Senneville'  (i.e.  Louis  Menard),  and  two  more  art 
criticisms  :  *  Le  Musee  classique  du  bazar  Bonne  Nou- 
velle,'  and  the  Salon  of  1846.  Then  appeared  another 
tale,  *  Le  Jeune  Enchanteur,'  and  two  essays,  '  Choix  de 
maximes  consolantes  sur  1'amour,'  and  '  Conseils  aux 
jeunes  litterateurs.' 

In  the  same  year  two  more  poems  appeared  in  the 
Artiste,  '  L'Impenitent '  (Don  Juan  aux  Enfers),  and 
'  A  une  Indienne'  (a  une  Malabaraise). 

1  Cp.  Gautier  :  *  This  intermingling  of  art  with  poetry  was,  and  is,  one  of  the 
characteristic  signs  of  the  new  school,  and  explains  why  its  first  adepts  were 
recruited  among  the  artists  rather  than  the  men  of  letters.  A  host  of  objects, 
pictures  and  comparisons,  believed  to  be  irreducible  to  words,  entered  the 
language,  to  remain  there.  The  sphere  of  literature  has  widened,  and  now 
encloses  the  sphere  of  art  in  its  vast  orbit. 


26         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  from  1846  onwards  he  is  continually  engaged  on 
his  translation  of  Edgar  Poe. 

In  1847  he  published  Le  Fanfarlo,  whose  hero  is  a 
burlesque  of  himself.  This  is  how  he  describes  this 
Samuel  Cramer  :— 

1  At  once  a  great  idler,  sad  in  his  ambition,  unhappy  in  his  fame. 
.  .  .  The  man  of  abortive  fine  works ;  a  sickly  and  fantastic  creature 
whose  poetry  shines  far  more  in  his  person  than  in  his  books,  and 
who  towards  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  between  the  flaming  of  a 
coal  fire  and  the  ticking  of  a  clock,  always  appeared  to  me  as  the 
god  of  impotence — a  modern  and  hermaphrodite  god — impotence 
so  vast  that  it  is  thereby  epic.  .  .  .  To  the  affairs  of  the  mind  and 
soul  he  applied  that  idle  contemplation  of  Germanic  natures,  and 
to  the  practice  of  life  all  the  whims  of  French  vanity.  He  would 
have  fought  a  duel  for  an  author  or  an  artist  dead  two  centuries 
since.  As  he  had  been  furiously  devout,  he  became  passionately 
atheistic.  He  was  at  once  all  the  artists  he  had  studied  and  all  the 
books  he  had  read,  and  yet  in  spite  of  this  actor's  faculty  he 
remained  profoundly  original.' 1 

The  year  1848  broke  up  the  habit  of  regular  work. 
Baudelaire,  for  all  his  aloof,  unconcerned  pose,  was  swept 
into  the  whirl  of  politics  ;  the  Revolution  occupied  all  his 
thought,  and,  contrary  to  our  expectations,  it  was  the 
democratic  side  which  enlisted  Baudelaire's  sympathy. 
In  his  Fusees  he  refers  to  his  action  :  '  My  intoxication 
of  1848.  What  was  the  nature  of  this  intoxication? 
Taste  for  vengeance ;  natural  pleasure  ;  destruction  in 
literary  intoxication  ;  recollections  from  reading.' 

In  1852  he  contributed  two  poems,  '  Crepuscule  du 
Matin  '  and  'Crepuscule  du  Soir,'  to  a  paper  called  Semaine 
Theatrale.  This  paper  was  very  short-lived,  and  after 
its  failure  he  tried  to  found  another,  but  with  equal 
unsuccess.  Already  he  was  becoming  less  productive  ; 

1  Cp.  Note  to  Reniement  de  Saint-Pierre,  where  he  lays  it  down  that  the 
poet  has  an  absolute  right,  that  it  is  his  duty,  even  '  as  an  actor  does,  to  fashion 
his  mind  to  fit  every  sophism,  every  corruption.' 


BAUDELAIRE  27 

between  1853  and  1855  he  only  published  his  *  Morale 
du  joujou,'  and  '  L'Essence  du  Rire.'  In  1857  Baudelaire 
published  through  Poulet  Malassis  the  first  edition  of 
his  Fleurs  du  Mai.  Some  of  the  poems  had  already 
appeared;  in  1846  L?  Artiste  had  given  '  L'Impenitent ' 
(Don  Juan  aux  Enfers)  and  (A  une  Indienne'  (A  une 
Malabaraise),  and  in  1855  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes 
published  eighteen  poems  :  'Au  Lecteur,'  *  Reversibilite,' 
*  Le  Tonneau  de  la  Haine,'  i  Confession,'  '  L'Aube 
Spirituelle,'  *  La  Volupte,'  '  Voyage  a  Cy there,'  'A  la 
Belle  aux  cheveux  d'or'  (L'Irreparable),  '  L'Invitation  au 
Voyage,'  '  Moestaeterrabunda,' '  La  Cloche,' '  L'Ennemi,' 
(  La  Vie  anterieure,'  *  Le  Spleen,'  '  Remords  posthume,' 
'LeGuignon,'  'La  Beatrice,'  *  L'Amour  et  le  Crane.'1 
The  year  1855  was  a  productive  one  with  Baudelaire  ; 
besides  these  poems  he  had  published  in  Le  Pays  a 
series  of  critical  articles  on  art,  methods  of  criticism, 
the  modern  idea  of  progress  applied  to  art,  and  the 
displacement  of  vitality. 

The  Fleurs  du  Mai  created  at  once  a  great  sensation, 
and  also  a  certain  amount  of  scandal.  Baudelaire  was 
prosecuted  on  the  ground  of  offence  to  public  morality, 
and  his  publishers  were  fined. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Madame  Sabatier  came 
definitely  into  his  life.  The  episode  is  singularly  char- 
acteristic of  the  man.  Here  was  a  woman,  beautiful, 
gifted,  and  sympathetic,  and  who  practically  offered 
herself  to  him.  It  was  the  fall  of  the  idol.  Baudelaire 
begins  to  analyse  and  to  doubt.  He  writes  to  her : — 

1  Then,  too,  I  told  you  yesterday  you  will  forget  me,  you  will  betray 
me ;  he  who  now  amuses  you  will  tire  you.  And  to-day  I  add  this, 
he  only  will  suffer  who  is  fool  enough  to  take  seriously  the  things  of 
the  soul.  You  see,  ma  belle  cherie,  I  have  odious  prejudices  against 
women.  In  short,  I  have  no  faith.  You  have  a  beautiful  soul,  but 
after  all  it  is  a  feminine  soul.  .  .  .  And  then,  and  then,  a  few  days 

1  List  quoted  by  M.  Crepet :  Charles  Baudelaire. 


28         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

ago  you  were  a  divinity,  which  is  so  agreeable,  so  fine,  so  inviolable. 
Now  you  are  a  woman.  And  if  to  my  cost,  I  were  to  acquire  the 
right  of  being  jealous  !  How  horrible  even  to  think  of !  But  with 
one  such  as  you  with  eyes  full  of  smiles  and  graciousness  for  every 
one,  it  must  be  martyrdom  !  .  .  .' 

As  Baudelaire  says,  he  had  no  faith — here  as  in  all 
things — yet  the  first  thing  a  woman  demands  is  trust. 
Madame  Sabatier  replied  :  *  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think, 
a  cruel  thought  that  hurts  me  very  much  ?  That  you  do 
not  love  me  ! ' 

In  a  later  letter  it  is  she  who  confesses  her  jealousy — 
of  Jeanne  Duval ;  yet  at  the  end  of  the  letter  she  can 
write  in  this  vein  : — 

*  Good  morning,  my  Charles ;  how  is  what  remains  to  you  of  a 
heart  ?  Mine  is  quieter.  I  reason  strongly  with  it  so  as  not  to  tire 
you  too  much  with  its  weaknesses.  You  will  see  !  I  shall  be  able  to 
force  it  to  descend  to  the  temperature  you  have  dreamed  of.  It  is 
very  certain  I  shall  suffer,  but  to  please  you  I  will  resign  myself  to 
bear  all  possible  sufferings.' 

And  the  astonishing  thing  is  that  they  settled  down 
into  a  quiet  and  lasting  friendship.  Baudelaire  continued 
to  visit  Mme.  Sabatier  up  to  his  departure  for  Brussels  ; 
and  in  his  tragic  last  months  she  was  constantly  with 
him. 

A  few  days  after  his  prosecution  Baudelaire  published 
some  prose  pieces  in  Le  Present :  '  Crepuscule  du  Soir,' 
1  Solitude,'  <Les  Projets,'  'L'Horloge,'  <  L'Invitation  au 
Voyage.'  In  the  latter  part  of  the  same  year  he  published, 
in  the  same  paper,  his  (  Quelques  caricaturistes  fran9ais,' 
and  *  Quelques  caricaturistes  etrangers,'  and  in  L? Artiste 
his  article  on  Gustave  Flaubert. 

In  1858  appeared  his  translation  of  the  adventures  of 
Arthur  Gordon  Pym,  and  the  first  part  of  the  Paradis 
artificiels,  and  in  1859  his  article  on  Theophile  Gautier. 

Long  before  this,  Baudelaire  had  been  in  considerable 


BAUDELAIRE  29 

financial  straits  and  had  found  himself  obliged  to  borrow 
money  from  his  friend  Poulet  Malassis.  At  this  moment 
Poulet  Malassis'  own  affairs  were  in  such  a  bad  way  that 
he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  and  Baudelaire,  in 
search  of  new  ways  to  make  money,  busied  himself  with 
plans  for  writing  a  drama.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  re- 
citing his  poems  at  various  gatherings,  and  a  favourite 
piece  was  '  Le  Vin  de  PAssassin.'  The  actor  Tisserand, 
on  hearing  it,  suggested  to  Baudelaire  that  it  might  be 
worked  up  into  a  drama.  Here  is  the  plan  as  Baudelaire 
describes  it  in  a  letter  to  Tisserand  : — 

'  Ma  principale  preoccupation  quand  je  commengais  a  rever  a 
mon  sujet,  fut :  a  quelle  classe,  a  quelle  profession  doit  appartenir  le 
personnage  principal  de  la  piece?  J'ai  decidement  adopte  une  pro- 
fession lourde,  triviale,  rude:  le  scieur  de  long.  Ce  qui  m'y  a 
presque  force,  c'est  que,  j'ai  une  chanson  dont  1'air  est  horriblement 
melancolique  et  qui  ferait  je  crois  un  magnifique  effet  au  theatre,  si 
nous  mettons  sur  la  scene  le  lieu  ordinaire  du  travail,  ou  surtout  si, 
comme  j'en  ai  envie,  je  developpe  au  troisieme  acte  le  tableau  d'une 
goguette  lyrique  ou  d'une  lice  chansonniere.  Cette  chanson  est 
d'une  rudesse  singuliere.  Elle  commence  par : — 

Rien  n'est  aussi-z-aimable 
Fanforu — crancru — lou — la — lahira 
Rien  n'est  aussi-z-aimable 
Que  le  scieur  de  long. 

Mon  homme  est  reveur  faineant ;  il  a  ou  il  croit  avoir  des  aspira- 
tions superieures  a  son  monotone  metier  et,  comme  tous  les  reveurs 
faineants  il  s'enivre. 

Les  deux  premiers  actes  sont  remplis  par  des  scenes  de  misere, 
de  chomage,  de  querelles  de  menage,  d'ivrognerie  et  de  jalousie. 
Vous  verrez  tout  a  1'heure  1'utilite  de  cet  element  nouveau. 

Le  3e.  acte,  la  goguette  —  ou  sa  femme  de  qui  il  vit  separe, 
inquiete  de  lui,  vient  le  chercher.  C'est  Ik  qu'il  lui  arrache  un 
rendez-vous  pour  le  lendemain  soir  dimanche. 

Le  4e.  acte  le  crime, — bien  preme'dite,  bien  precongu.  Quant  a 
1'execution  je  vous  la  raconterai  avec  soin. 

Le  5e.  acte  (dans  une  autre  ville),  le  denoument,  c'est-a-dire  la 


30         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

denonciation  du  coupable  par  lui-meme,  sous  la  pression  d'une 
obsession.  Comment  trouvez-vous  cela?  Vous  voyez  comme  le 
drame  est  simple.  Pas  d'imbroglios,  pas  de  surprises — simple- 
ment,  le  developpement  d'un  vice  et  des  resultats  successifs  d'une 
situation.* 

Later,  Zola  worked  out  the  same  idea  in  his  long  novel 
L'Assommoir.  It  is  interesting  to  remark  in  passing  that 
in  dramatic  form  this  work  is  no  more  successful  than 
in  the  plans  of  Baudelaire.1 

Further  on  in  his  letter  Baudelaire  describes  in  detail  the 
crime  which  his  hero  is  led  to  commit.  It  is  almost 
identically  the  same  as  that  of  Petrus  Borel's  '  Passereau 
1'Ecolier ' ;  we  will  therefore  not  quote  in  detail  here,  but 
return  to  it  when  we  come  to  study  Borel. 

Baudelaire's  drama  was  never  written  ;  he  had  not  the 
essential  dramatic  gifts  and  recognised  the  fact. 

In  1 86 1  appeared  the  second  edition  of  the  Fleurs  du 
Mai,  and  the  article  on  '  Richard  Wagner  et  Tannhauser.' 
It  is  another  tribute  to  Baudelaire's  penetration  that  he 
appreciated  the  genius  of  the  German  master  at  a  time 
when  Wagner's  music  was  the  laughing-stock  of  Europe. 

It  was  in  this  year,  too,  that  he  decided  to  present  him- 
self as  a  candidate  for  the  Academy.  As  was  only  to 
be  supposed,  this  candidature  led  to  violent  opposition, 
and  in  the  end  Baudelaire  avoided  inevitable  defeat  by 
withdrawing. 

And  now  that  Paris  which  he  had  observed  with  such 
enthusiasm  began  to  tire  him,  and  then  to  disgust  him, 
and  his  financial  outlook  became  more  and  more  gloomy. 
Finally,  in  1864,  Baudelaire  left  Paris  to  settle  definitely 
in  Brussels. 

He  believed  that  he  would  be  able  to  make  money  in 
Belgium,  firstly  by  his  writings,  and  secondly  by  giving 
lectures — a  dream  that  he  never  realised.  His  letters 

1  UAssommoir — drame  en  cinq  actes  et  neuf  tableaux.  W.  Busnach  and 
O.  Gastineau,  Paris,  1881. 


BAUDELAIRE  31 

written  from  Belgium  make  sad  reading  ;  he  only  leaves 
off  his  tirades  against  the  Belgians  to  complain  of  his 
poverty.  He  was  never  able  to  make  money — in  twenty- 
six  years  he  made  less  than  sixteen  thousand  francs — or, 
as  M.  Catulle  Mendes  worked  it  out,  about  one  franc 
seventy  a  day  ! 

The  Belgians  were  always  entirely  uncongenial  to  him  ; 
he  soon  conceived  a  violent  hatred  for  them.  He  writes 
to  Manet  in  1864  : — 

1  The  Belgians  are  fools,  liars,  and  thieves.  I  have  been  the 
victim  of  the  most  impudent  fraud.  Here  deception  is  the  rule,  and 
is  no  dishonour.  .  .  .  Never  believe  what  you  are  told  about 
Belgian  good  humour.  Cunning,  distrust,  false  affability,  rudeness, 
knavery — yes  ! ' 

We  can  easily  see,  since  such  were  his  views,  how 
Baudelaire  was  condemned  to  loneliness  in  Belgium  : — 

1  As  for  conversation,  the  great,  the  only  pleasure  for  an  intel- 
lectual being,  you  may  scour  Belgium  in  every  direction  without 
discovering  a  soul  who  speaks.  Many  people  flocked  with  idiotic 
curiosity  around  the  author  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai  The  author  of 
the  Flowers  in  question  could  not  be  other  than  an  eccentric 
monster.  All  these  blackguards  took  me  for  a  monster,  and  when 
they  saw  that  I  was  cold,  moderate,  and  polite,  that  I  had  a  horror 
of  free-thinkers,  progress,  and  all  modern  foolishness — they  decreed 
(I  suppose)  that  I  was  not  the  author  of  my  book.  What  a  comic 
confusion  between  the  author  and  the  subject !  This  unhappy  book 
(of  which  I  am  very  proud)  is  then  very  obscure,  very  unintelligible  ! 
I  shall  long  bear  the  punishment  for  having  dared  to  paint  evil  with 
some  talent ! ' 

In  his  irritation  Baudelaire  falls  back  on  his  favourite 
mystifying  pose  : — 

1  However,  I  must  confess  that  for  two  or  three  months  I  have 
been  giving  rein  to  my  character,  and  taking  a  peculiar  pleasure  in 
hurting  people's  feelings,  in  showing  myself  impertinent — a  talent  in 
which  I  excel,  when  I  want  to.  But  here  that  is  not  enough,  you 
must  be  coarse  to  be  understood!  What  a  set  of  blackguards  !  I 


32         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

who  used  to  think  France  an  absolutely  barbaric  country  am  forced 
to  admit  that  there  exists  a  country  even  more  barbarous  than 
France.' 

Later  on  he  writes  to  Mme.  Paul  Meurice  : — 

'  I  have  been  taken  here  for  a  police-inspector  (that 's  good), 
thanks  to  that  good  article  I  wrote  on  the  Shakespeare  banquet ; 
.  .  .  then  for  a  proof  corrector  sent  from  Paris  to  correct  infamous 
works.  Exasperated  at  always  being  believed,  I  spread  the  report 
that  I  had  killed  my  father,  and  that  I  had  eaten  him,  and  that  if  I 
had  been  allowed  to  escape  from  France  it  was  only  on  account 
of  the  services  I  had  rendered  to  the  French  police,  and  I  was 
BELIEVED  !  I  am  as  at  home  in  dishonour  as  a  fish  in  water ! ' 

Finally,  his  impatience  turns  to  sadness,  and  he  wants 
to  be  alone.  '  I  am  wearied  and  suffer  martyrdom.  I 
have  withdrawn  from  all  society.  I  much  prefer  complete 
solitude  to  brutal,  stupid  and  ignorant  companionship.' 

The  only  compensation  Baudelaire  found  for  living  in 
Belgium  lay  in  the  friendship  of  Felicien  Rops :  *  the 
only  true  artist  (in  the  sense  in  which  I,  and  perhaps  I 
alone,  understand  the  word  artist)  that  I  have  found  in 
Belgium.' 

He  also  speaks  with  admiration  of  the  town  of  Mechelin. 
He  tells  us  that  if  it  had  not  been  a  Belgian  town  with 
a  Flemish  population  he  would  have  liked  to  live,  and, 
above  all,  to  die  there.  It  appealed  to  him  in  just  the 
same  way  as  Bruges  to  Rodenbach  ;  these  words  of 
Baudelaire  might  well  have  come  from  the  pen  of  the  later 
writer : — 

*  So  many  belfries,  so  many  steeples,  so  much  grass  growing  in 
the  streets,  and  so  many  nuns !  I  discovered  a  marvellous  Jesuit 
church  that  no  one  visits.  In  a  word,  I  was  so  happy  that  I  was 
able  to  forget  the  present,  and  I  bought  there  some  pieces  of 
old  delft.' 

He  characteristically  adds  that  these  were  of  course 
much  dearer  than  they  ought  to  have  been,  and  once 


BAUDELAIRE  33 

more  explodes  into  wrath  :  '  The  whole  race  has  become 
brutalised  ;  the  past  alone  is  interesting.' 

During  the  years  Baudelaire  passed  in  Belgium  he 
finished  his  translation  of  Edgar  Poe,  and  made  great 
plans  for  a  book  on  Belgium  ;  this  last  was  never  finished. 
The  reason  was  not  indolence,  the  poet's  health  had 
begun  to  fail.  The  letters  of  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1865 
have  frequent  references  to  his  ill-health,  to  the  doctors' 
advice  to  give  up  stimulants,  and  to  avoid  worry  and 
mental  fatigue,  and  to  his  own  inability  to  pay  for  the 
necessary  remedies. 

In  1866  he  began  to  make  plans  for  returning  to  Paris, 
but  the  journey  was  continually  postponed.  It  was  in 
March  of  this  year  that  the  crisis  came.  The  father-in- 
law  of  Felicien  Rops  invited  Baudelaire  to  Namur,  an 
invitation  which  the  latter  gladly  accepted,  delighting  in 
an  opportunity  of  revisiting  the  old  church  of  Saint-Loup. 
It  was  while  he  was  making  a  tour  of  this  church  that  he 
was  suddenly  seized  with  giddiness  and  fell.  He  recovered 
himself  for  the  moment,  but  the  next  day  it  was  clear  that 
he  was  suffering  from  some  mental  trouble — aphasia  and 
paralysis  set  in — he  was  taken  back  to  Brussels  and 
installed  in  a  sanatorium  there,  but  it  was  the  beginning 
of  the  end.  His  mother  came  to  Brussels  to  nurse  her 
son,  and  found  that  he  needed  tending,  to  use  her  own 
words,  'as  quite  a  little  child.'  In  the  beginning  of  July 
1866  she  and  Alfred  Stevens  brought  back  to  Paris  a 
Baudelaire  who  was  less  than  the  ghost  of  his  former  self. 
Baudelaire  in  his  last  years  is  one  of  the  most  tragic 
figures  in  all  literary  history.  Deprived  of  memory, 
wasted  and  changed  to  the  extent  of  being  unable  to 
recognise  himself  in  a  mirror,  for  him,  who  had  boasted 
that  the  inexpressible  did  not  exist,  who  was  in  truth  a 
'  lord  of  language,'  now  unable  to  express  his  simplest 
thoughts,  for  him  indeed  death  could  only  bring  consola- 
tion in  releasing  him  from  his  suffering  in  September  1867. 


34         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Before  passing  on  to  consider  the  philosophy  of 
Baudelaire's  work  we  would  point  out  that  this  philosophy 
is  the  outcome  of  three  elements — his  nature,  his  education, 
and  his  age. 

By  nature  Baudelaire  is  above  all  the  man  of  sensation. 
Unhappily  we  have  no  medical  documents  here.  At  that 
time  no  one  studied  a  writer  from  this  point  of  view — as 
has  been  done  since  (for  example,  Dr.  Toudouze's  study 
of  Emile  Zola).  But  perhaps  after  all  his  poems  are  as 
weighty  documents  as  a  doctor's  diagnosis.  And  these 
reveal  an  excessively,  even  unhealthily,  sensitive  nature. 

We  have  also  the  testimony  of  his  contemporaries  and 
critics  who  tell  us  that  Baudelaire's  nerves  were  extra- 
ordinarily acute,  and  that  his  faculty  of  smell  was 
developed  to  the  highest  point.  Some  of  his  most 
famous  lines  are  written  on  the  subject  of  perfumes  :— 

*  II  est  des  parfums  frais  comme  des  chairs  d'enfants, 
Doux  comme  les  hautbois,  verts  comme  les  prairies, 
— Et  d'autres  corrompus,  riches  et  triomphants, 
Ayant  1'expansion  des  choses  infinies, 
Comme  1'ambre,  le  muse,  le  benjoin  et  1'encens, 
Qui  chantent  les  transports  de  1'esprit  et  des  sens.' 

and  these : — 

'  II  est  de  forts  parfums  pour  qui  toute  matiere 
Est  poreuse.     On  dirait  qu'ils  penetrent  le  verre. 
En  ouvrant  un  coffret  venu  de  1'orient 
Dont  la  serrure  grince  et  rechigne  en  criant, 
Ou  dans  une  maison  deserte  quelque  armoire 
Pleine  de  Pacre  odeur  des  temps,  poudreuse  et  noire, 
Parfois  on  trouve  un  vieux  flacon  qui  se  souvient 
D'ou  jaillit  toute  vive  une  ame  qui  revient.' 

It  is  the  desire  for  sensation  again  that  leads  him  to 
take  refuge  in  what  he  himself  describes  as  the  paradis 
artificiels  of  opium. 

Those  who  seek  in  Baudelaire's  pages  supernatural 
visions  such  as  those  of  De  Quincey  or  of  Poe  will  be  dis- 


BAUDELAIRE  35 

appointed.  The  paradis  artificiels  contain  little  beside 
the  account  of  De  Quincey's  experience  and  life. 

He  does,  indeed,  describe  his  own  experiences  of 
hashish,  telling  us  how 

*  colours  will  take  on  an  unusual  energy  and  enter  into  the  brain 
with  victorious  intensity.  The  paintings  on  ceilings,  whether  they 
be  delicate,  mediocre,  or  even  bad,  will  be  clothed  with  fearful  life ; 
the  most  crudely  painted  papers  on  a  hotel  wall  will  hollow  them- 
selves into  magnificent  dioramas.  Nymphs  with  dazzling  flesh  look 
at  you  with  their  great  eyes  that  are  more  profound  than  sky  or 
water ;  the  characters  of  antiquity,  muffled  up  in  their  sacerdotal  or 
military  garb,  by  means  of  a  simple  look  exchange  the  most  solemn 
confidences  with  you.  In  the  meanwhile,  there  develops  that 
mysterious  and  temporary  state  of  mind  wherein  the  profoundness 
of  life,  studded  with  its  countless  difficulties,  is  revealed  in  the 
spectacle,  be  it  never  so  trivial,  one  has  before  one's  eyes :  in  which 
the  nearest  object  becomes  a  speaking  symbol.  Fourier  and 
Swedenborg,  the  former  with  his  analogies,  the  latter  with  his  corre- 
spondances  incarnated  themselves  in  the  vegetable  and  animal  which 
meets  your  eyes,  and  instead  of  teaching  by  the  voice  they  inculcate 
their  doctrine  by  means  of  form  and  colour.  .  .  .  Hashish  then 
spreads  itself  over  the  whole  of  life  like  a  magic  varnish,  painting  it 
in  solemn  colours  and  lighting  up  all  its  depths.' 

Or  as  he  expressed  it  in  one  of  his  poems  : — 

'  L'opium  agrandit  ce  qui  n'a  pas  de  bornes, 

Allonge  1'illimite, 
Approfondit  le  temps,  creuse  la  volupte, 

Et  de  plaisirs  noirs  et  mornes 
Remplit  Tame  au  delk  de  sa  capacite.' 

Secondly,  by  nature  Baudelaire  is  the  Parisian  sceptic 
with  Catholic  upbringing,  and  the  contest  between  these 
two  contrasted  lines  of  tendency  forms  one  of  the  salient 
features  of  his  work.  The  best  proof  of  this  is  the  feeling, 
not  of  indifference,  but  of  disgust  produced  in  any 
Calvinistic  mind  whenever  the  name  of  Baudelaire  is 
pronounced.  Such  see  in  him  an  agent  of  Satan  escaped 
from  a  modern  Babylon.  They  do  not  understand  him, 


36         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

and  yet  were  they  but  acquainted  with   his  theory  of 
original  sin,  would  they  not  judge  otherwise  ? 

There  is  no  theory  more  dear  to  Baudelaire's  heart  than 
that  of  original  sin.  In  a  letter  to  Toussenel  he  wrote  : — 

*  Speaking  of  original  sin,  I  have  often  thought  harmful,  loath- 
some animals  are  perhaps  nothing  other  than  the  vivification, 
embodiment,  and  dawning  into  material  life  of  man's  evil  thoughts. 
In  this  way  the  whole  of  nature  participates  in  original  sin.' 

And  in  his  Art  Romantique  (jfrloge  du  Maquillage)  we 
read  : — 

f  Review,  analyse  all  that  is  natural,  you  will  find  nothing  that 
is  not  horrible.  Everything  fine  and  noble  is  the  product  of 
reason  and  calculation.  Crime,  for  which  the  human  animal 
acquired  a  taste  in  his  mother's  womb,  is  originally  natural.' 

Everywhere  his  eyes  were  met  by  the  '  tedious  spectacle 
of  immortal  sin. '  He  believed  firmly  in  the  natural  impulse 
which  leads  to  actions  well  known  by  the  perpetrator  to 
be  wrong,  and  therefore  fascinating.  The  prose  poem 
Le  Mauvais  Vitrier  is  a  good  example  of  Baudelaire's 
treatment  of  the  theme  of  the  Imp  of  the  Perverse.  In 
this  way,  too,  woman,  who  is  far  more  a  creature  of 
natural  impulse  than  of  reason,  calls  down  all  the  wrath 
of  Baudelaire,  who  calls  her  'natural,  that  is  to  say, 
abominable.' 

At  the  same  time,  the  idea  of  the  Virgin  is  ever  present, 
bringing  with  her  the  atmosphere  of  the  ideal  world. 

*  Elle  se  rdpand  dans  ma  vie 
Comme  un  air  parfume  de  sel, 
Et  dans  mon  ame  inassouvie 
Verse  le  gout  de  l'£ternel.J 

And  nature  takes  on  the  aspect  of  the  Catholic  cere- 
monial :— 

'  — chaque  fleur  s'evapore  ainsi  qu'un  encensoir,' 
or 

'  le  ciel  est  triste  et  beau  comme  un  grand  reposoir  ! ' 


BAUDELAIRE  37 

Then  there  is  the  contrasting  mood  —  the  mood  of 
libertinage,  where  he  shows  himself  preoccupied  with  the 
questions  of  the  flesh.  As  La  Bruyere  has  said  :  '  Les 
devots  ne  connaissent  de  crimes  que  1'incontinence.'  And 
Baudelaire  painted  vice,  with  its  attraction  (in  accordance 
with  his  theory),  but  also,  since  he  knew  that 

*  The  Gods  are  just  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  plague  us ' 

with  its  consequences,  even  as  he  described  the  after-effects 
of  opium. 

And  withal  the  analyst  in  him  is  ever  on  the  alert ;  his 
highest  ecstasy  never  destroys  the  analysing  faculty. 
We  have  already  seen,  in  the  Madame  Sabatier  episode, 
how  the  truth  of  that  wise  remark  '  our  doubts  are 
traitors '  applies  to  Baudelaire,  and  in  his  poems  we  find 
fresh  proofs  of  the  fact  that  the  analysing  spirit  in 
Baudelaire  is,  by  its  very  power,  his  worst  enemy. 

He  furnishes  a  proof  of  that  passage  of  Guy  de 
Maupassant,  who  says  : — 

1 A  simple  feeling  no  longer  exists  in  the  man  of  letters.  Every- 
thing he  sees,  his  joys,  pleasures,  sufferings,  and  despair,  all  become 
instantly  subjects  for  observation.  In  spite  of  everything,  in  spite 
of  himself,  he  is  for  ever  analysing  hearts,  faces,  gestures,  voice 
intonations.  ...  He  lives  under  the  sentence  of  being  a  continual 
reflection  of  himself  and  others,  under  the  sentence  of  watching 
himself  feel,  act,  love,  think,  or  suffer,  and  of  never  suffering, 
thinking,  loving,  feeling  like  any  one  else  honestly,  frankly,  simply, 
without  self-analysis  after  every  joy  or  every  sob.' 

We  have  already  mentioned  Baudelaire's  tireless 
curiosity,  his  resolution  to  miss  nothing  of  what  Paris 
could  offer  to  his  observation. 

'  J'etais  comme  1'enfant  avide  du  spectacle, 
Ha'issant  le  rideau  comme  on  hait  un  obstacle.' 


38         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  this  curiosity  gave  him  no  peace — forced  him,  as  it 
were,  to  further  observation.     As  he  himself  says, 

*  La  curiosite  nous  tourmente  et  nous  roule, 
Comme  un  Ange  cruel  qui  fouette  des  soleils.' 

The  Tableaux  Parisiens  are  the  fruit  of  this  curiosity. 
In  his  poems  in  prose  he  describes  the  power  of  this 
feeling  in  him  : — 

1  Once  I  happened  to  follow  for  hours  a  poor  old  woman  who  was 
in  trouble.  .  .  .  She  was  evidently  forced  by  her  absolute  solitude 
to  habits  like  those  of  an  old  bachelor,  and  the  masculine  character 
of  her  ways  lent  a  mysterious  piquancy  to  their  austerity.  I  know 
not  in  what  miserable  cafe  she  had  breakfasted,  nor  how.  I  followed 
her  to  the  reading-room,  and  I  watched  her  for  a  long  time  while 
she  sought  among  the  papers  with  eager  eyes,  once  tear-scalded, 
news  of  some  great  personal  interest.  In  the  end — in  the  afternoon, 
under  a  charming  autumn  sky,  one  of  those  skies  from  which  a 
host  of  recollections  and  regrets  descend,  she  sat  in  a  garden,  far 
from  the  crowd,  to  listen  to  one  of  those  concerts  with  which 
regimental  music  charms  Parisian  people. 

c  Doubtless  this  is  the  little  debauch  of  that  innocent  (or  purified) 
old  woman,  this  is  her  well-earned  consolation  for  one  of  those 
tedious  days  without  a  friend,  without  a  pleasant  talk,  without  a 
confidant,  that  God  allows  to  fall  to  her  lot — perhaps  for  years 
now — three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times  a  year.' 

This  is  the  <  Petites  Vieilles '  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai— 
that  poem  into  which  (Baudelairian  though  it  be)  passes 
a  note  of  Villon  : — 

*  Dans  les  plis  sinueux  des  vieilles  capitales, 
Ou  tout,  meme  Phorreur,  tourne  aux  enchantements, 
Je  guette,  obeissant  a  mes  humeurs  fatales, 
Des  etres  singuliers,  decrepits  et  charmants. 
Ces  monstres  disloques  furent  jadis  des  femmes, 
Eponine  ou  Lais  ! — Monstres  brises,  bossus 
Ou  tordus,  aimons-les  !     Ce  sont  encor  des  ames. 

Ah  !  que  j'en  ai  suivi,  de  ces  petites  vieilles  ! 
Une  entre  autres,  a  1'heure  ou  le  soleil  tombant 
Ensanglante  le  ciel  de  blessures  vermeilles, 
Pensive  s'asseyait  a  1'ecart  sur  un  bane, 


BAUDELAIRE  39 

Pour  entendre  un  de  ces  concerts,  riches  de  cuivre, 
Dont  les  soldats  parfois  inondent  nos  jardins, 
Et  qui,  dans  ces  soirs  d'or  ou  Ton  se  sent  revivre, 
Versent  quelque  hero'isme  au  coeur  des  citadins.  .  .  . 

Telles  vous  cheminez,  stoiques  et  sans  plaintes, 
A  travers  le  chaos  des  vivantes  cites, 
Meres  au  coeur  saignant,  courtisanes  ou  saintes, 
Dont  autrefois  les  noms  par  tous  etaient  cites. 

Vous  qui  futes  la  grace  ou  qui  futes  la  gloire, 
Nul  ne  vous  reconnait !  un  ivrogne  incivil 
Vous  insulte  en  passant  d'un  amour  derisoire  ; 
Sur  vos  talons  gambade  un  enfant  lache  et  vil. 

Honteuses  d'exister,  ombres  ratatinees, 
Peureuses,  le  dos  bas,  vous  cotoyez  les  murs ; 
Et  nul  ne  vous  salue,  etranges  destinees  ! 
Debris  d'humanite  pour  Peternite  murs  ! ' 

And  of  the  same  class  is  the  poem  '  Les  Aveugles ' ;  the 
eyes  of  the  Blind 

'  — restent  leves 

Au  ciel ;  on  ne  les  voit  jamais  vers  les  paves 
Pencher  reveusement  leur  tete  appesantie. 


II  traversent  ainsi  le  noir  illimite, 

Ce  frere  du  silence  eternel.     O  cite  ! 

Pendant  qu'autour  de  nous  tu  chantes,  ris,  et  beugles, 

Eprise  du  plaisir  jusqu'a  1'atrocite, 

Vois,  je  me  traine  aussi !  mais  plus  qu'eux  hebete', 

Je  dis  :  Que  cherchent-ils  au  Ciel,  tous  ces  aveugles  ? ' 

But  together  with  the  analyst  a  kind  of  stoic  appears. 
Baudelaire  never  spoke  of  himself — we  have  the  testimony 
of  his  contemporaries  for  that;  it  would  have  been  against 
his  principles  to  let  his  sufferings  be  seen.  As  he  says  in 
'  Le  Dandy '  :— 

'  The  character  of  the  dandy's  beauty  lies  above  all  in  that  cold 
bearing  which  comes  from  a  steadfast  determination  not  to  be  moved  ; 
it  is  like  a  latent  fire  which  suggests  its  presence,  and  which  could 
glow,  but  will  not' 


40         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

It  is  this  attitude  which  explains  Baudelaire's  develop- 
ment of  the  '  art-for-art '  theory,  to  add  to  it  that  detached 
1  aristocratic '  element. 

First  of  all,  then,  he  lays  down  the  '  art-for-art '  theory, 
rigorously  banishing  any  idea  of  didacticism  : — 

'  The  more  art  would  aim  at  being  philosophically  clear,  the  more 
will  it  degrade  itself  and  return  to  the  childish  hieroglyphic ;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  more  art  detaches  itself  from  teaching,  the  nearer 
will  it  attain  to  pure  disinterested  beauty. 

'  A  great  many  people  believe  that  the  aim  of  poetry  is  some  kind 
of  teaching,  that  poetry  should  at  one  moment  fortify  conscience, 
at  another  perfect  morals,  or  at  any  rate  prove  something  useful.  .  .  . 
Poetry  has  no  other  aim  than  Herself ;  can  have  no  other ;  and  no 
poetry  will  be  so  great,  noble,  and  truly  worthy  of  the  name  of 
poem  as  that  written  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  writing  a  poem.  Let 
me  be  well  understood.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  poetry  cannot 
ennoble  morals  :  that  its  final  result  may  not  be  to  raise  man  above 
the  level  of  vulgar  interests  :  that  would  be  evidently  absurd.  I  do 
say  that  if  the  poet  has  pursued  some  moral  aim,  it  is  no  imprudence 
to  predict  that  his  work  will  be  bad. 

'  Poetry,  under  pain  of  death  or  decay,  cannot  assimilate  herself  to 
science  or  ethics;  she  has  not  Truth  for  object,  she  has  only  Herself.' 

Later  on  in  his  article  on  Charles  Dupont  he  exclaims : 
'  Didacticism  in  poetry  is  a  great  sign  of  laziness,'  and 
he  continues  : — 

'  It  is  at  once  by  and  through  poetry,  by  and  through  music,  that 
the  soul  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  splendours  situated  behind  the 
tomb,  and  when  an  exquisite  poet  brings  tears  to  the  eyes,  these 
tears  are  not  the  sign  of  excessive  delight,  they  are  far  rather  the 
mark  of  an  excited  melancholy,  of  a  postulation  of  the  nerves,  a 
nature  exiled  in  imperfection,  and  which  longs  to  gain  immediate 
possession,  on  this  very  earth,  of  the  revealed  paradise. 

'Thus,  the  principle  of  poetry  is  strictly  and  simply  human 
aspiration  towards  a  superior  Beauty,  and  the  manifestation  of  this 
principle  lies  in  an  enthusiasm,  an  uplifting  of  the  soul ;  enthusiasm 
which  is  quite  independent  of  passion,  which  is  the  intoxication  of 
the  heart,  and  of  truth  which  is  the  pasturage  of  reason.  For 
passion  is  a  natural  thing,  too  natural  even  not  to  introduce  a  harsh, 


BAUDELAIRE  41 

discordant  note  into  the  domain  of  pure  Beauty ;  too  familiar  and 
too  violent  not  to  scandalise  the  pure  Desires,  gracious  Melancholy, 
and  noble  Despair,  which  dwell  in  the  supernatural  realms  of  Poetry.' 

Sainte-Beuve  criticised  this  attitude  in  a  letter  to 
Baudelaire  where  he  writes  : — 

'  Let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  which  would  be  very 
surprising  to  those  who  do  not  know  you.  You  are  too  afraid 
of  passion — it  is  a  theory  with  you.  You  make  too  much  con- 
cession to  management.  Let  yourself  alone,  do  not  fear  to  feel 
as  others  feel,  never  be  afraid  to  be  too  ordinary.7 

It  is  sound  advice.  When  Baudelaire  expressed  his 
admiration  for  *  the  great  spirits  who  spurn  reality,' 
what  he  despised  was  not  so  much  reality  as  the 
commonplace,  and  it  was  this  that  led  to  his  excessive 
love  of  artifice. 

Yet  Baudelaire  did  perceive  the  danger  lurking  in  the 
'  art-for-art '  theory,  even  though  it  was  only  in  passing 
humour  that  he  wrote  : — 

'  Immoderate  taste  for  form  leads  to  monstrous,  unknown  dis- 
orders. .  .  .  The  frenzied  passion  of  art  is  a  canker  which  devours 
all  else,  and  the  frank  absence  of  the  just  and  true  in  art  comes  to 
the  same  as  the  absence  of  art,  the  whole  man  vanishes ;  the  special- 
isation of  one  faculty  leads  to  nothingness.  .  I  understand  the  fury  of 
iconoclast  and  mussulman  against  images.  I  realise  the  remorse  of 
Saint  Augustine  for  excessive  joy  of  the  eye.  The  danger  is  so 
great  that  I  excuse  the  suppression  of  the  object.' 

The  knowledge  of  the  danger  saddens  him  ;  he  sees 
*  irresistible  night  establishing  her  empire,'  after  the 
romantic  sunset,  and  he  adds  :— 

'  Literature  must  go  to  recruit  its  forces  in  a  better  atmosphere. 
The  time  is  not  far  off  when  it  will  be  understood  that  all  literature 
which  refuses  to  walk  fraternally  between  science  and  philosophy 
is  a  homicidal,  suicidal,  literature.' 

Baudelaire's  ideal  beauty  is  not  simple,  but  rather  that 
in  which  some  mystery  and  some  sadness  is  incorporated. 


42         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'J'ai  trouve  la  definition  du  Beau,  de  mon  Beau,'  he 
writes  in  his  Fusees  : — 

'  It  is  something  fervent  but  sad,  something  rather  vague,  leaving 
room  for  conjecture.  If  you  permit,  I  will  apply  my  ideas  to  a 
sensible  object,  for  example,  to  that  most  interesting  object  in 
society,  a  woman's  face.  A  seductive,  beautiful  head,  a  woman's 
head  I  mean,  is  a  head  that  gives  rise,  in  some  confused  way,  to 
dreams  at  once  voluptuous  and  sad;  it  brings  with  it  a  hint  of 
melancholy,  of  lassitude,  of  satiety  even — or  else  the  contrary  idea, 
that  is  to  say,  an  ardour,  a  desire  of  life  associated  with  a  bitterness 
like  the  ebb-tide  from  privation  or  hopelessness.  Mystery,  regret, 
are  also  characteristics  of  the  Beautiful.  ...  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  Joy  cannot  associate  with  Beauty,  but  I  do  say  that  Joy  is  one 
of  her  most  vulgar  ornaments.  While  Melancholy  is,  so  to  speak, 
her  noble  companion,  and  so  much  so  that  I  can  scarcely  conceive 
of  a  type  of  Beauty  where  there  is  not  some  Unhappiness.' 

He  expressed  the  same  idea  in  the  famous  '  Madrigal 

Triste '  :— 

*  Que  m'importe  que  tu  sois  sage  ? 
Sois  belle  !  et  sois  triste  !  les  pleurs 
Ajoutent  un  char  me  au  visage, 
Comme  le  fleuve  au  paysage  ; 
L'orage  rajeunit  les  fleurs. 

Je  t'aime  surtout  quand  la  joie 
S'enfuit  de  ton  front  terrasse  ; 
Quand  ton  cceur  dans  1'horreur  se  noie  ; 
Quand  sur  ton  present  se  deploie 
Le  nuage  affreux  du  passeV 

An    almost    inseparable    attribute    of    this    beauty    is 
Horror  :— 

'  Tu  marches  sur  des  morts,  Beaute,  dont  tu  te  moques, 
De  tes  bijoux  1'Horreur  n'est  pas  le  moins  charmant, 
Et  le  Meurtre,  parmi  tes  plus  chers  breloques, 
Sur  ton  ventre  orgueilleux  danse  amoureusement' 

and  again  : — 

*  Ce  qu'il  faut  k  ce  cceur  profond  comme  un  abime, 
C'est  vous,  Lady  Macbeth,  ame  puissante  au  crime, 
Reve  d'Eschyle  e'clos  au  climat  des  antans. 


BAUDELAIRE  43 

Ou  bien  toi,  grande  Nuit,  fille  de  Michel-Ange, 
Qui  tors  paisiblement  dans  une  pose  etrange 
Tes  appas  fagonnes  aux  bouches  des  Titans.' 

This  taste  has  its  foundation  in  that  desire  to  astonish 
or  to  mystify,  which  is  one  of  the  ruling  traits  of  Baude- 
laire's character.  It  is,  however,  a  feature  common  to  so 
many  of  the  young  romantics  that  it  cannot  be  called 
exclusively  Baudelairian.  It  was  the  same  desire  to 
epater  le  bourgeois  which  made  Theophile  Gautier  bring 
out  his  famous  Gilet  rouge,  which  led  Petrus  Borel  to 
adopt  his  startling  costume,  and  produced  such  startling 
names  as  Philothee  O'Neddy,  or  a  host  of  other  pleasant 
extravagances. 

Certainly  Baudelaire  carried  the  taste  for  mystification 
somewhat  far,  as  when  he  ordered  a  certain  blue  coat,  and 
then  when  that  was  finished  ordered  a  dozen  like  it  'just 
to  astonish  the  tailor.'  It  was  the  same  impulse  that  led 
him  to  tell  astounding  stories  about  himself  merely  to 
shock  his  hearers.  In  his  Salon  of  1859,  he  said  : — 

*  The  desire  to  astonish  and  to  be  astonished  is  a  very  legitimate 
one.  The  whole  question  is  to  know  by  what  means  you  wish  to 
create  or  feel  astonishment.  Because  the  Beautiful  is  always 
astonishing  it  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  what  is  astonishing 
is  always  beautiful.  Now,  our  public  which  is  singularly  powerless 
to  feel  the  happiness  of  reverie  or  admiration  (sign  of  small  minds) 
wants  to  be  astonished  by  means  foreign  to  art,  and  artists  obediently 
conform  to  its  taste ;  they  seek  to  strike  it,  surprise  it,  stupefy  it 
by  unworthy  stratagems,  because  they  know  it  incapable  of  feeling 
ecstasy  before  the  natural  tactics  of  true  art.' 

Just  so.  And  Baudelaire  in  his  desire  to  epater  le 
bourgeois  went  too  far,  and  we  rather  sympathise  with 
the  remark  of  that  man  who,  seeing  Baudelaire  making 
his  way  homeward  one  night,  observed  to  his  companion, 
*  There  goes  Baudelaire  ;  I  '11  wager  he 's  going  to  bed 
to-night  under  the  bed  instead  of  in  it — just  to  astonish 
it.' 


44         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Let  us  then  pass  on  now — having  studied  the  charac- 
teristics of  which  Baudelairian  philosophy  is  the  outcome 
— to  consider  the  philosophy  itself. 

Professional  philosophers  are  unwilling  to  admit  that  a 
poet  may  be  a  philosopher.  A  man  who  does  not  make 
use  of  the  approved  scholastic  dialectic  methods  appears 
to  them  little  else  than  a  heretic  entering  the  holy  of 
holies. 

Let  us  acknowledge  at  once  that  Baudelaire  never  posed 
as  a  philosopher.  He  put  the  best  of  himself  into  his 
poems  in  prose  or  verse,  and  the  two  collections  of  his 
reflections  Fusees  and  Mon  Cceur  mis  a  nu  cannot  be 
compared  to  that  profound  Journal  of  Alfred  de  Vigny. 

But  if,  as  Nietzsche  has  it,  the  philosopher  is  he  who 
gives  a  new  meaning  to  the  universe,  Baudelaire  has 
certainly  a  claim  to  be  accounted  a  philosopher. 

For  Nietzsche,  as  M.  Lichtenberger x  points  out,  nothing 
in  Nature  is  of  worth  in  itself:  the  world  of  reality  is  only 
indifferent  matter  which  has  no  interest  apart  from  that 
which  we  ourselves  lend  it.  In  this  way  the  true  philoso- 
pher is  that  man  whose  personality  is  strong  enough  to 
create  a  world  which  interests  mankind.  Now,  has  not 
Baudelaire  created  just  that — a  world  which  interests 
mankind — a  world  which  is  disconcerting,  mysterious  and 
sorrowful,  a  world  in  which  an  intellectual  epicureanism 
combines  with  true  stoicism  and  catholic  mysticism,  a 
world  in  which  so  many  souls  have  lived,  a  world  which 
would  seem  the  living  triumph  of  will. 

From  this  point  of  view  Baudelaire  seems  to  be  the 
hero  that  Nietzsche2  called  for,  he  who  brings  new 

1  La  philosophic  de  Nietzsche. 

2  After  this  book  was   finished   our   attention  was  called  to  an  article  on 
Baudelaire  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  (March  1911)  by  M.  Andr£  Beaunier. 
We  cannot  do  better  than  refer  our  readers  to  this  delightfully  written  study. 
M.  Beaunier  seems  to  have  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion  as  ourselves  when  he 
says,  unfortunately  only  en  passant :  '  Faire  sa  volupte  de  son  tourment,  il  y  a 
laduNietzscheisme.' 


BAUDELAIRE  45 

passions,  new  desires,  and  puts  new  value  into  everything. 
We  will  go  further. 

Baudelaire's  ideas  looked  at  in  the  light  of  Nietzsche's 
philosophy  take  on  a  singular  refulgence,  and,  under  the 
rays  of  the  German  thinker's  ideas,  reflect  such  curious 
lights  that  we  will  venture  to  compare  the  two  writers. 

A  certain  resemblance  is  at  once  perceptible  between 
Nietzsche's  philosophy,  which  makes  ceaseless  effort  to 
raise  oneself  above  oneself  the  great  task  imposed  on  the 
will,  and  Baudelairism,  which  is  founded  above  all  on  the 
will  being  always  strained  to  despise  feelings  which  are 
the  outcome  of  pure  nature. 

No  poetry  is  more  conscious  than  that  of  Baudelaire, 
and  this  is  an  important  point  since  critics  have  portrayed 
Baudelaire  as  a  kind  of  opium-eater  incapable  of  self- 
command.  In  his  Preface  to  the  translation  of  Poe's 
*  Raven  '  he  wrote  : — 

'  Poetics,  we  are  told,  are  made  and  modelled  in  accordance  with 
poems.  Here  is  a  poet  who  maintains  that  his  poem  has  been 
composed  in  accordance  with  his  theory  of  poetics.  Certainly  he 
had  great  genius  and  more  inspiration  than  any  one  else,  if  by 
inspiration  is  understood  energy,  intellectual  enthusiasm,  and  the 
power  of  keeping  the  faculties  awake.  But  he  also  loved  work  more 
than  others ;  he  liked  to  repeat,  he  who  was  so  perfectly  original, 
that  originality  was  a  matter  of  apprenticeship,  which  does  not  mean 
that  it  is  something  transmitted  by  teaching.  Chance  and  the  in- 
comprehensible were  his  two  great  enemies.  Did  he,  by  some 
strange  amusing  vanity,  make  himself  out  less  inspired  than  he  was 
naturally?  Did  he  dimmish  the  gratuitous  faculty  which  was  in 
him  to  show  the  part  of  will  the  finer  ?  I  should  be  rather  inclined 
to  believe  it ;  though  at  the  same  time  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
his  genius,  ardent,  active  as  it  was,  had  a  passionate  love  of  analysis, 
intrigue  and  calculation.  One  of  his  favourite  axioms  was  this : 
"  Everything  in  a  poem,  just  as  in  a  novel,  should  tend  towards  the 
denouement.  A  good  author  has  already  got  his  last  line  in  his 
head  when  he  writes  his  first."  Thanks  to  this  admirable  method, 
the  composer  can  begin  his  work  at  the  end  and  work  when  he  likes 


46         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

at  any  part  of  it.  Amateurs  of  delirium  will  perhaps  be  revolted  by 
these  cynical  maxims :  but  each  can  take  as  much  of  them  as  he 
will.  It  will  always  be  good  to  show  them  what  advantages  art  can 
draw  from  deliberation,  and  to  make  men  of  the  world  see  how 
much  toil  is  exacted  by  that  luxury  called  poetry.' 

He  had  already  touched  on  this  subject  in  his  Salon 
of  1859,  where  he  says  :— 

'There  is  no  chance  in  art,  any  more  than  in  mechanics.  A 
happy  discovery  is  simply  the  consequence  of  a  good  piece  of 
reasoning  with  the  intermediate  deductions  passed  over,  just  as  a 
mistake  is  the  result  of  false  reasoning.' 

And  as  regards  the  inspiration  of  opium,  he  has  finely 
said  : — 

'  But  man  is  not  so  cut  off  from  honest  means  of  gaining  heaven 
to  need  to  invoke  pharmacy  and  sorcery,  he  has  no  need  to  sell  his 
soul  to  pay  for  intoxicating  caresses  and  the  friendship  of  houris. 
What  is  that  paradise  bought  at  the  price  of  eternal  salvation  ? ' 

But  the  important  point  to  remark  is  that  the  Nietzschean 
morality,  just  as  the  art  of  Baudelaire,  rests  above  all 
upon  sensation.  For  Nietzsche  sensation  is  the  '  scales, 
the  weights  and  the  weigher,'  that  is — everything. 

As  M.  Jules  de  Gaultier  well  puts  it : — 

'  The  being  (that  is  the  being  in  itself)  only  reveals  itself  partially 
to  consciousness,  it  remains  mysterious  in  its  origin  and  in  its  end. 
The  part  of  itself  it  allows  to  be  realised  is  revealed  in  sensation. 
Sensation,  as  regards  consciousness,  is  the  penumbra  out  of  which 
rises  the  external  world.' 

Doubtless,  if  Baudelaire  had  been  asked  what  was 
sensation  he  would  have  expressed  himself  somewhat 
differently,  and  in  less  scholastic  terms.  But  would  he 
not  also  have  declared  that,  in  his  eyes,  sensation  was  all- 
important,  that  we  must  continually  subtilise  those  we 
experience,  or  better  still,  create  new  ones,  marking  mean- 
while the  delicate  connections  between  those  of  hearing, 
sight,  and  smell? 


BAUDELAIRE  47 

No  poet  before  Baudelaire  had  brought  so  many  new 
sensations  into  literary  style. 

In  the  classical  ages  the  mind  hides  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  commerce  of  the  senses,  sensation  in  the  intellect's 
crucible  becomes  abstract  sentiment.  But  in  Baudelaire, 
on  the  contrary,  sensation  passes  through  his  mind  to 
settle,  all  quivering  on  the  page  before  him,  like  a  butter- 
fly which  the  writer  has  surprised  as  it  flew,  and  through 
whose  frail  body  he  hesitates  in  his  happiness  to  drive 
a  pin. 

And  in  this  way  Baudelaire  was  really  the  first  of  the 
impressionists.1  Herein,  too,  he  was  merely  following 
his  nature,  for  he  seems  to  have  been  a  wonderful 
receptacle  for  sensation.  Think  how  he  speaks  of 
perfumes,  dividing  them  into  three  classes  according  as 
they  call  up  different  ideas,  sensations,  or  recollections. 

And  his  interest  in  drinks  and  poisons,  what  is  it  if  not 
the  very  instinct  of  the  '  man  of  sensation  '  in  pursuit  of 
what  he  has  not  yet  felt?  Sensation  is  of  capital  import- 
ance, since  it  brings  an  escape  from  the  oppressiveness 
of  reality. 

1  One  must  ever  be  drunken.  Everything  is  in  that ;  it  is  the 
only  question.  In  order  not  to  feel  the  horrible  burden  of  Time 
that  is  breaking  your  shoulders,  bending  you  earthwards,  you  must 
be  ceaselessly  drunken. 

'  But  with  what  ?  With  wine,  poetry,  or  virtue,  as  you  will — only 
intoxicate  yourself;  and  if  sometimes,  on  the  steps  of  a  palace,  or 
the  green  sward  of  a  grave,  or  in  the  mournful  solitude  of  your 
room  you  wake  to  find  the  intoxication  diminished  or  vanished, 
ask  of  the  wind,  or  the  wave,  or  the  star,  or  the  bird,  or  the  clock, 
or  all  that  flies,  all  that  groans,  all  that  rolls  on,  all  that  sings,  all 
that  speaks,  ask  what  time  it  is ;  and  the  wind,  wave,  star,  bird  and 
clock  will  tell  you  :  "  It  is  time  to  be  drunken."  Lest  you  should 
be  the  martyred  slaves  of  Time,  be  ceaselessly  drunken !  With 
wine,  poetry  or  virtue,  as  you  will.' 

1  We  shall  return  to  this  point  when  we  come  to  study  the  Baudelairian  spirit 
in  Painting. 


48         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  whence  comes  the  magic  of  his  verse  if  not  from 
this  pursuit  of  the  inexpressible?  He  penetrates  into 
sensation  to  the  utmost  limit,  then,  as  Barbey  d'Aurevilly 
says,  hurls  himself  against  that  mysterious  gate  of  the 
Infinite  which  he  cannot  open,  and  in  his  rage  turns  on 
language  and  exhausts  his  fury  there. 

And  let  us  acknowledge  that  out  of  this  he  produced 
wonderful  effects,  was  able  to  present  objects  to  us,  to 
express  feelings  which  till  then  defied  description. 

Can  we  ever  forget  that  marvellous  sonnet,  perhaps  the 
most  profound  ever  written,  *  Correspondances  ' : — 

'  La  Nature  est  un  temple  cm  de  vivants  piliers 
Laissent  parfois  sortir  de  confuses  paroles  ; 
L'homme  y  passe  a  travers  des  forets  de  symboles 
Qui  1'observent  avec  des  regards  familiers. 
Comme  de  longs  echos  qui  de  loin  se  confondent 
Dans  une  tenebreuse  et  profonde  unite, 
Vaste  comme  la  nuit  et  comme  la  clarte*, 
Les  parfums,  les  couleurs  et  les  sons  se  repondent  .  .  .'  etc. 

What  sonnet,  or  rather  what  thought,  was  ever  more 
fertile  in  consequences?  When  could  philosophy  boast 
of  having  renewed  the  inspiration  of  prosody — and  paint- 
ing— as  this  theory  has  done  ? 

Do  not  our  modern  painters  make  use  of  a  musical 
terminology  ?  And  is  not  one  of  their  cherished  ideas 
that  of  having  made  progress  like  that  of  the  symphonic 
orchestra :  *  enriching  itself,  embroidering  itself,  cease- 
lessly complicating  itself  at  the  expense  of  precise  out- 
line.'1 

Looking  at  the  canvas  of  one  or  other  of  the  modern 
painters  there  is  one  word  which  rises  irresistibly  to  our 
lips — symphony.  We  have  only  to  think  of  certain 
pictures  of  Whistler,  where  a  grey  note  is  supported 
by  united  harmonies  of  the  same  tone.2 

1  Raymond  Bouyer. 

2  '  Is  it  by  some  fatality  of  decadence  that  to-day  every  art  shows  a  desire  to 
encroach  upon  its  sister  art,  that  painters  introduce  musical  scales  into  painting, 


BAUDELAIRE  49 

Take,  for  example,  the  portrait  of  Miss  Alexander,  a 
little  fair-headed  girl,  holding  a  grey  felt  hat  on  a 
panel  of  amber-coloured  grey  supported  by  the  pure 
black  of  the  wall,  a  piece  of  virtuoso  execution  in  the 
scales  of  grey  and  silver  !  And  such  pictures  are  legion. 
And  then  think  of  the  so-called  '  verlibriste '  poetry, 
the  breaking  up  of  traditional  metres,  an  instrumen- 
tation which  is  at  every  moment  varied,  contrasted, 
disconcerting. 

This  Revolution  is  doubtless  not  due  to  a  single  man, 
yet  might  it  not  justly  have  inscribed  upon  its  banner  the 
sonnet  of  Baudelaire  ? 

The  pursuit  of  sensation  must  necessarily  lead  to  what 
Baudelaire  calls  degout  de  la  me — extase  de  la  me.  An 
attitude  Nietzschean  par  excellence. 

Degout  de  la  me.  No  man  ever  felt  it  more  than 
Nietzsche  ;  for  was  he  not  at  first  a  fervid  disciple  of  that 
greatest  of  pessimists,  Schopenhauer? 

But,  the  influence  of  Schopenhauer  admitted,  what 
does  it  explain?  We  accept  only  these  doctrines  which 
already  exist  forcibly  in  ourselves,  or,  as  Nietzsche  said, 
'  there  is  no  philosophy  that  is  not  supported  by  a  state 
of  mind  which  is  the  outcome  of  our  instincts.'  And 
the  pessimism  of  the  nineteenth-century  French  writers 
is  such  a  common  trait  that  we  may  call  it  almost 
instinctive — they  seem  to  have  imbibed  it  from  infancy. 
Baudelaire  is  perhaps  the  greatest  pessimist  of  his  pessi- 
mistic nation.  As  such  too,  he  has  portrayed  himself 
in  his  work  ;  he  took  pleasure  in  describing  his  soul's 
darkness  to  us  : — 

'  Mon  ame  est  un  tombeau  que,  mauvais  cenobite, 
Depuis  1'eternite  je  parcours  et  j'habite, 
Rien  n'embellit  les  murs  de  ce  cloitre  odieux ! ' 


sculptors  colour  into  sculpture,  men  of  letters  plastic  devices  into  literature, 
and  other  artists  a  kind  of  encyclopaedic  philosophy  into  plastic  art  itself?' 

D 


50         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  it  comes  to  pass  that 

* ...  la  terre  est  changee  en  un  cachot  humide 
Ou  PEsperance,  comme  une  chauve-souris, 
S'en  va  battant  les  murs  de  son  aile  timide 
Et  se  cognant  la  tete  a  des  plafonds  pourris. 

Et  de  longs  corbillards,  sans  tambours  ni  musique, 
Defilent  lentement  dans  mon  ame  ;  1'Espoir 
Vaincu,  pleure,  et  PAngoisse  atroce,  despotique, 
Sur  mon  crane  inclined  plante  son  drapeau  noir.' 

We  could  multiply  indefinitely  quotations  of  this  sort. 
Finally  his  pessimism  grows  so  deep  that  he  knows  not 
where  he  shall  turn,  and  his  soul  becomes  une  vieille 
gabare  sans  mats  sur  une  mer  monstrueuse  et  sans  bords, 
and  hope  deserts  him  : — 

'  L'irresistible  Nuit  etablit  son  empire, 
Noire,  humide,  funeste  et  pleine  de  frissons  ; 
Une  odeur  de  tombeau  dans  les  tenebres  nage, 
Et  mon  pied  peureux  froisse,  au  bord  du  marecage 
Des  crapauds  impreVus  et  de  froids  lima^ons.' 

The  same  idea  recurs  over  and  over  again.  Take,  for 
example,  the  close  of  '  L'Irreparable ' : — 

'J'ai  vu  parfois,  au  fond  d'un  theatre  banal 

Qu'enflammait  Porchestre  sonore, 
Une  fee  allumer  dans  un  ciel  infernal 

Une  miraculeuse  aurore ; 
J'ai  vu  parfois  au  fond  d'un  theatre  banal 

Un  etre,  qui  n'etait  que  lumiere,  or  et  gaze 

Terrasser  Penorme  Satan  ; 
Mais  mon  coeur,  que  jamais  ne  visite  Pextase, 

Est  un  theatre  ou  Pon  attend 
Toujours,  toujours  en  vain,  1'fetre  aux  ailes  de  gaze ' ; 

or  that  wonderful  piece  from  *  Spleen '  (No.  LXXVIIL), 
where  he  describes  himself  as  having  lost  even  his 
curiosity,  beginning  :— 

'  J'ai  plus  de  souvenirs  que  si  j'avais  mille  ans.  .  .  . 
Rien  n'egale  en  longueur  les  boiteuses  journees, 
Quand  sous  les  lourds  flocons  des  neigeuses  anndes 


BAUDELAIRE  51 

L' Ennui,  fruit  de  la  morne  incuriosite, 
Prend  les  proportions  de  Pimmortalite ' ; 

or  this  : — 

'  Nous  avons  vu  partout  et  sans  1'avoir  cherche, 
Du  haut  jusqu'en  has  de  Pechelle  fatale, 
Le  spectacle  ennuyeux  de  1'immortel  peche  : 
La  femme,  esclave  vile  orgueilleuse  et  stupide, 
Sans  rire  s'adorant,  et  s'aimant  sans  degout, 
L'homme,  tyran  goulu,  paillard  dur  et  cupide, 
Esclave  de  Pesclave  et  ruisseau  dans  1'egout ; 

Le  bourreau  qui  jouit,  le  martyr  qui  sanglote, 
La  fete  qu'assaisonne  et  parfume  le  sang  ; 
Le  poison  du  pouvoir  dnervant  le  despote, 
Et  le  peuple  amoureux  du  fouet  abrutissant ; 

Plusieurs  religions  semblables  k  la  notre, 
Toutes  escaladant  le  ciel ;  la  Saintete, 
Comme  en  un  lit  de  plume  un  delicat  se  vautre 
Dans  les  clous  et  le  crin  cherchant  la  volupte. 

L'Humanite  bavarde,  ivre  de  son  genie, 

Et,  folle  maintenant  comme  elle  6ta.it  jadis, 

Criant  a  Dieu,  dans  sa  furibonde  agonie  : 

"  O  mon  semblable,  O  mon  maitre,  je  te  maudis  ! " 

Et  les  moins  sots,  hardis  amants  de  la  Demence, 
Fuyant  le  grand  troupeau  parque  par  le  Destin, 
Et  se  refugiant  dans  1'opium  immense  ! 
—  Tel  est  du  globe  entier  1'eternel  bulletin. 

Amer  savoir,  celui  qu'on  tire  du  voyage  ! 
Le  monde,  monotone  et  petit,  aujourd'hui 
Hier,  demain,  toujours,  nous  fait  voir  notre  image 
Une  oasis  d'horreur  dans  un  desert  d'ennui.  .  .  .' 

But  the  fact  which  constitutes  Baudelaire's  originality, 
and  which  brought  about  Nietzsche's  success,  is  that 
both  celebrated  the  beauty  of  life.  t  Extase  de  la  vie,' 
writes  Baudelaire  after  saying  *  degout  de  la  vie,'  just  as 
in  Nietzsche  seeing  the  world  in  beauty  saves  him  from 
pessimism  and  engenders  his  love  of  life :  *  And  thus 
spake  I  often  to  myself  for  consolation:  "  Courage!  be 


52         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

of  good  cheer,  old  heart !     An  unhappiness  has  failed  to 
befall  thee  :  enjoy  that  as  thy  happiness."  ' 

Is  not  this  just  what  Baudelaire  did,  not  only  when  he 
rejoiced  in  his  unhappiness  as  in  happiness,  but  when, 
thanks  to  it,  he  drew  fresh  sounds  from  the  '  new  thrills 
of  his  lyre  '  ? 

For  Nietzsche,  as  for  Baudelaire,  beauty  can  redeem 
all  sorrow.  It  is  this  point  of  view  which  gave  birth  to 
Nietzsche's  conception  of  the  spirit  of  Apollo  and  the 
spirit  of  Dionysus,  as  M.  Jules  Gaultier  has  excellently 
explained  in  his  book  De  Kant  a  Nietzsche.  And  it  is 
this  point  of  view  which  made  Baudelaire  write  his 
wonderful  sonnet  *  Vie  Anterieure '  (J'ai  longtemps  habite 
sous  de  vastes  portiques),  and  '  La  Geante '  and  '  Le 
Balcon,'  and  so  many  charming  prose  poems  where  the 
author  of  '  La  Charogne '  celebrates  life  for  its  own  sake. 

Just  as  Nietzsche  attributes  to  the  Greeks  a  certain 
mental  attitude  which  he  calls  the  union  of  the  Apollonian 
and  Dionysian  spirit,  so  it  pleases  us  to  find  in  Baudelaire 
the  pessimist  conception  of  life  leading  to  a  dream  of 
beauty. 

The  Greek,  says  Nietzsche,  knew  suffering,  but  sur- 
mounted it  by  the  creation  of  art.  Between  reality  which 
wounds  him  and  his  own  sensitiveness,  he  places  the 
world  of  beautiful  forms,  the  world  of  beautiful  verse — 
the  Apollonian  world.  But  the  Greeks  went  further : 
under  the  dominion  of  a  divine  intoxication  man  feels 
his  identity  with  the  whole  universe,  and  in  the  joys  he' 
feels  at  such  a  discovery  he  offers  up  a  hymn  to  Dionysus. 
Thus  Dionysian  art  in  making  him  understand  the 
identity  of  spectacle  and  spectator  has  justified  life  in  his 
eyes. 

Thus  suffering  becomes  joy,  and  the  phenomenon  makes 
itself  felt  before  every  tragic  drama. 

We  have  not  to  discuss  here  whether  Nietzsche's  theory 
in  its  application  to  the  Greeks  be  true  or  false ;  but  it 


BAUDELAIRE  53 

certainly  holds  in  application  to  Baudelaire.  The  poet 
understands  that  art  is  the  great  consoler,  and  while 
decrying  life  for  its  cruelty,  at  the  same  time  celebrates  it 
for  its  beauty,  celebrates  it  because  it  is  life. 

Take  the  piece  called  *  Soleil ' — here  we  are  in  absolute 
Nietzscheanism. 

A  ray  of  sunshine  strikes  across  town  and  fields.  The 
poet  has  gone  in  search  of  ideas,  and  at  first  he  sees  only 
the  closed  shutters  which  lend  an  air  of  suspicion  to  the 
houses — he  loses  himself  in  a  maze  of  dark,  dank  streets, 
where  the  houses  look  evil  and  diseased.  But  is  not 
the  poet  like  the  sun  which  deifies  all,  shining  alike  on 
slum  or  temple,  shedding  its  golden  glory  on  the  dunghill 
and  on  the  flowers. 

Do  we  not  see  here  the  birth  of  the  <  art  for  art '  theory 
in  the  poet's  soul  ? 

In  truth,  when  we  come  to  reflect  about  this  subject, 
we  find  nothing  is  more  interesting  than  these  two  minds, 
the  one  French,  the  other  German,  both  seeing  life  in 
sorrowful  light,  then  both  transforming  their  philosophic 
feelings  into  assthetic  feelings,  eager  to  prolong  the 
spectacle,  and  to  describe  it,  and  while  maintaining  a 
profound  disgust  of  life  at  the  same  time  adoring  it  in 
that  it  is  life.  And  the  two  minds  destined  to  tread  the 
same  path  arrive  inevitably  at  the  same  resting-place  of 
thought. 

The  one  will  say  : — 

*  La  volupte  unique  et  supreme  de  1'amour  git  dans  la  certitude 
de  faire  le  mal — et  1'homme  et  la  femme  savent  de  naissance  que 
dans  le  mal  se  trouve  toute  volupte.' 

(If  Nietzsche  had  written  that  how  admirable  it  would 
have  been  considered  !) 

The  other  will  say  to  men :  <  Harden  yourselves,' 
or : — 

'  I  am  very  glad  to  see  the  miracles  which  the  warm  sun  brings 


54         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

forth :  such  are  tigers,  and  palm-trees,  and  rattlesnakes.  Also 
amongst  men  there  is  a  beautiful  brood  of  the  warm  sun,  and  much 
that  is  marvellous  in  the  wicked.' 

And  might  we  not  quote  here  that  magnificent  *  Don 
Juan  aux  Enfers,'  with  all  its  tragic  grandeur,  and  which 
so  many  superficial  readers  have  despised,  untouched  by 
all  the  Nietzschean  philosophy  of  the  poem — the  amorfati 
before  which  Nietzsche  bows  down. 

Strange  as  a  comparison  between  Baudelaire  and 
Nietzsche  may  seem  at  first  sight,  the  strangeness  tends 
more  and  more  to  disappear  when  we  remember  another 
point  of  agreement  between  the  two  writers  :  the  horror  in 
which  they  both  hold  the  encyclopaedic  and  revolutionary 
spirit :  '  So  speaketh  justice  unto  mej  says  Zarathoustra ; 
'  men  are  not  equal  and  neither  shall  they  become  so  ! 
What  would  be  my  love  of  the  Superman  if  I  spoke 
otherwise  ? ' 

And  Gautier  tells  us  of  Baudelaire  that  he  had  '  a 
perfect  horror  of  progressivists,  utilitarians,  humani- 
tarians, Utopists.' 

Baudelaire  wrote  in  a  letter  to  Arcelle  : — 

'  With  the  exception  of  Chateaubriand,  Balzac,  Stendhal,  Meri- 
mee,  de  Vigny,  Flaubert,  Banville,  Gautier,  Leconte  de  Lisle,  all 
the  modern  rabble  inspire  me  with  horror.  Virtue  with  horror. 
Vice  with  horror.  Fluent  style  with  horror.  Progress  with  horror' 

And  he  returns  to  the  question  of  progress  in  a  char- 
acteristic note  on  Laclos  :  'Have  morals  improved?  No, 
energy  for  wickedness  has  grown  less.  And  stupidity  has 
taken  the  place  of  wit.' 

'This  is  a  great  deal  of  metaphysics  for  an  introduction,'  writes 
Gautier  in  his  Preface ;  *  but  Baudelaire's  was  a  subtle,  complicated, 
reasoning,  paradoxical  nature,  and  more  philosophical  than  is 
generally  that  of  poets.' 


BAUDELAIRE  55 

We  will  stop — lest  a  desire  of  forcing  comparisons  too 
far  should  lead  to  falsity. 

Having  seen  the  unjust  contempt  with  which  certain 
pedants  would  overwhelm  the  ideas  of  Baudelaire,  we 
have  found  pleasure  in  comparing  him  with  the  philosopher 
who  is  most  in  vogue  at  this  moment. 

When  we  come  to  think  upon  it,  we  see  that  life,  varied 
as  it  may  seem,  turns  ever  on  the  same  round,  and  the 
same  conditions  of  mind  reappear  across  the  centuries. 

There  remains  always,  however,  a  fairly  great  difference 
between  Nietzsche  and  Baudelaire:  Nietzsche  declared  war 
to  the  knife  on  Christianity,  in  which  he  saw  a  religion  of 
slaves  ;  Baudelaire,  on  the  other  hand,  saw  in  Catholicism 
the  only  doctrine  that  could  render  the  universe  intelligible. 
Nietzsche,  in  virtue  of  his  atavism  and  his  education, 
always  took  renunciation  as  the  typical  Christian  action  ; 
his  philosophy,  and  above  all,  his  pathological  condition 
led  him  towards  the  end  of  his  life  to  make  the  instinct  of 
greatness  the  principle  of  all  morality,  and  thus  he  could 
not  do  otherwise  than  condemn  the  Christianity  sur- 
rounding him. 

Quite  different  is  the  position  of  Baudelaire.  In  the 
first  place,  without  any  strong  positive  beliefs,  like  every 
Parisian,  he  was  led  by  his  moral  preoccupation  to  attach 
a  very  high  importance  to  the  conditions — healthy,  or 
unhealthy — of  the  human  being,  or,  let  us  say  to  those 
morbid  conditions  into  which  vice  leads  him. 

'  Impiety  does  not  exist  in  Baudelaire's  nature ;  he  oelieves  in  a 
superior  form  of  mathematics  established  by  God  from  all  time, 
whose  least  infringement  is  followed  by  the  hardest  punishments. 
.  .  .  With  Baudelaire  sin  is  always  followed  by  remorse,  anguish, 
disgust,  despair,  and  is  punished  by  itself,  which  is  the  greatest 
suffering.' * 

Remorse,  disenchantment,  mental  anguish  are  facts  as 
real  as  any  battle — indeed  more  real  in  the  eyes  of  the 

1  Theophile  Gautier.     Preface. 


56         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

psychologist,  —  carrying     with    them    more    incalculable 
consequences. 

Every  writer  who  takes  an  interest  in  the  human 
personality  is  led  inevitably  into  ethics  ;  we  have  only 
to  think  of  Taine  setting  out  with  an  entirely  negative 
philosophic  conception,  but  at  the  end  of  his  life  admitting 
the  reality  of  virtue  and  vice,  and  asking  to  be  given  a 
religious  burial. 

After  all,  what  matters  it  whether  the  philosophy  of 
Baudelaire  be  profound  or  superficial  ?  We  shall  still 
be  attracted  by  the  bitter-sweet  fruit  of  his  poems.  Shall 
we  go  to  them  to  find  precepts  of  life,  or  a  picture  of  the 
decadence  of  the  second  Empire,  or  a  healing  for  our 
suffering  ? 

What  gives  these  poems  their  magic  —  their  more  than 
magic,  their  deep  life,  is  that  in  them  a  human  soul 
reveals  itself  —  a  soul  which  is  tormented,  unsatisfied, 
sinning,  but  always  in  <  correspondence  '  with  Heaven- 
just  as  Baudelaire  wished  it. 

His  irony,  his  misanthropy,  his  pessimism  only  serve 
to  make  us  understand  from  what  heights  the  poet  must 
have  fallen. 

Doubtless  we  should  have  liked  to  think  that  towards 
the  evening  of  his  life  he  freed  himself  from  the  bands  of 
opium,  hashish  and  alcohol.  Yet  who  knows?  Cured, 
would  he  have  composed  his  masterpieces?  Better  still, 
who  knows  but  that  through  him  certain  minds  have  not 
arrived  at  a  surer  conception  of  their  obligations  ?  Who 
shall  pronounce  on  either  success  or  happiness  save  ev 


At  the  outset  of  this  study  we  declared  that  Baude- 
laire's marvellous  style  would  suffice  to  explain  his  influ- 
ence. 

We  must  confess  also  that  the  last  thirty  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century  have  played  a  considerable  part  in 
propagating  him. 


BAUDELAIRE  57 

The  age  to  which  we  refer  is  in  one  way  a  literary 
reaction  against  science  :  it  worships  the  mysterious,  and 
therefore  Baudelaire  was  bound  to  please  since  he  seemed 
the  very  exerciser  of  reality. 

Two  great  wants  in  turn  have  ruled  nineteenth-century 
French  literature  :  the  need  of  science  and  the  need  of 
the  ideal.  The  latter  dominates  at  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century — Chateaubriand  is  its  choir-master. 
Then  from  1840-80  there  appeared  the  positivists,  the 
realists,  the  naturalists  ;  all  those — call  them  what  you 
will — worship  Science,  with  Taine  as  their  director. 

Sainte-Beuve  wrote  at  the  end  of  his  articles  on  Madame 
Bo  vary : — 

'  In  many  places,  and  under  diverse  forms  I  think  I  recognise 
new  literary  signs :  science,  spirit  of  observation,  force,  some 
hardness  even.  Such  are  the  characteristics  which  seem  to  dis- 
tinguish the  front-rank  men  of  the  new  generation.  Son  of,  and 
brother  of  distinguished  doctors,  M.  Gustave  Flaubert  holds  the  pen 
as  others  the  scalpel.  Anatomists  and  physiologists,  I  find  you 
everywhere ! ' 

When  we  say  that  the  years  1840-80  mark  the  reign  of 
the  positivist  spirit,  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  were 
no  dreamers,  no  believers,  at  that  time  ;  we  merely  mean 
that  this  spirit  was  the  spirit  of  the  men  who  direct  the 
course  of  minds. 

In  the  same  way  when  we  say  that  from  1870,  or  from 
1880-1900,  the  desire  of  the  ideal  seems  uppermost,  we  only 
mean  that — apart  from  a  few  exceptions — the  worshippers 
of  science  do  admit  the  existence  of  other  things  than 
science. 

Now  Baudelaire  has  certainly  benefited  by  this  change 
of  temper. 

Here  again,  to  be  quite  exact,  we  ought  to  say  that  the 
seed  sown  by  an  original  thinker,  even  when  it  falls  on 
stony  ground,  is  not  choked  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  creates 
for  itself  the  soil  which  develops  it,  like  the  wallflower 


58         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

growing  in  the  crevice  of  a  rock  and  which  reproduces 
itself  despite  a  greedy  soil,  cruel  winds  and  winters. 

Brilliant  as  was  the  triumph  of  science  in  Baudelaire's 
age,  certain  minds  brought  up  in  the  school  of  Pascal 
(that  is,  realising  the  limits  of  the  domain  of  science)  felt 
that  even  if  science  banish  all  idea  of  mystery  from  the 
understanding,  it  leaves  intact  the  domain  of  our  feelings 
(Nietzsche  would  say  '  instincts '  where  we  say  *  feelings  '). 
For  here  is  something  irreducible.  You  cannot  measure 
a  sensation  ;  our  '  hinterland '  cannot  be  reduced  to  a 
molecular  theory. 

The  philosophy  of  Herbert  Spencer — the  last  comer- 
far  from  completing  the  triumph  of  science,  on  the 
contrary  brought  into  view  more  than  one  crevice  in  the 
philosophic  edifice.  Instead  of  discovering  the  secret  of 
things  as  we  had  hoped,  all  that  we  discovered  was  the 
form  of  a  mind,  a  powerful  mind  certainly,  but  human, 
therefore  fallible. 

The  Spencerian  system  was  too  little  comprehensive  to 
explain  the  whole  universe.  As  we  feel  in  us  unsatisfied 
desires,  unemployed  forces,  we  conclude  that  in  the  uni- 
verse there  is  something  which  must  satisfy  our  desires 
or  set  free  these  forces. 

What  thinking  being  worthy  of  the  name  has  not 
passed  through  its  curious  moments  in  which  life  appears 
to  be  something  ineffable,  when  the  wonder  at  all  its 
mystery  becomes  almost  painful. 

As  Browning  puts  it  so  well : — 

'  Just  when  we  are  safest,  there 's  a  sunset  touch, 
A  fancy  from  a  flower  bell,  someone's  death, 
A  chorus  ending  from  Euripides. 
And  that 's  enough  for  fifty  hopes  and  fears 
As  old  and  new  at  once  as  nature's  self 
To  rap  and  knock  and  enter  in  our  soul, 
Take  hands  and  dance  there,  a  fantastic  ring, 
Round  the  ancient  idol,  on  his  base  again — 
The  grand  Perhaps  ! ' 


BAUDELAIRE  59 

Evolutionism  and  positivism  had  shut  the  gates  of  that 
great  unknown  into  which  we  long  to  penetrate. 

It  explains  nothing  to  say  that  such  sensations  prove 
the  poet's  dipsomaniacs  or  '  superior  degenerates  ' — what 
matters  the  cause  if  the  effect  is  produced  ? 

Better  still,  when  the  chosen  of  a  nation  arrive  at  that 
state  which  Ravaisson  prophesies,  where  he  announces 
<  the  predominance  of  what  might  be  called  a  spiritualist 
realism  or  positivism,  having  for  generating  principle  the 
consciousness  which  the  mind  takes  in  itself  of  an  existence 
from  which  it  recognises  that  all  other  existences  are 
derived,  upon  which  they  are  dependent,  and  which  is 
nothing  other  than  its  action,'1  it  is  clear  that  the  future 
does  not  belong  to  pure  materialism.2 

Long  before  the  philosophers  rang  the  passing  bell  of 
empiricism  pure  and  simple,  the  public — lettered  and  un- 
lettered— had  felt  that  such  a  philosophy  does  not  satisfy. 
To  see  that  this  is  so  we  have  only  to  think  how  man 
strives  with  music,  poetry,  romance,  to  calm  and  lull  to 
rest  his  insatiable  instincts. 

At  the  same  time,  if  we  desire  consolation  for  reality, 
yet  we  also  desire  fuller  knowledge  of  reality,  and  ultimate 
arrival  at  the  domination  of  reality.  These  two  instincts 
are  united  by  the  love  of  the  marvellous  and  the  desire  of 

1  Ravaisson.     '  Rapport  sur  la  philosophic  en  France  au  xixe  siecle.' 

2  In  order  to  make  this  idea  plainer,  and  without  wishing  to  enter  upon  a 
philosophical  discussion  here,  we  will  refer  the  reader  to  the  following  works : — 

Bergson,  Henri  Louis.  '  Essai  sur  les  donnees  immediates  de  la  conscience.' 
Paris,  1889.  (English  translation  by  F.  L.  Pogson,  1910.  Bibliographies.) 

*  L'e volution  creatrice.'     Paris,  1907. 

'  Matiere  et  memoire  :  Essai  sur  la  relation  du  corps  a  1'esprit.'     Paris,  1896. 

Maurice  Blondel.  l  L'action  :  Essai  d'une  critique  de  la  vie,  et  d'une  science 
de  la  pratique,'  1898.  '  Histoire  et  Dogme,'  1904. 

Edouard  le  Roy.     '  Dogme  et  critique. ' 

Gaston  Wilhaud.  f  Essai  sur  les  conditions  et  les  limites  de  la  certitude 
logique.'  Second  edition.  Paris,  1893. 

Emile  Boutroux.  *  Etudes  d'histoire  de  la  philosophic,'  1897.  *  Science  et 
Religion  dans  la  philosophic  contemporaine,'  1908.  (English  translation, 
Jonathan  Nield,  1909.) 


60         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

understanding,  and  becoming  strengthened  in  their 
amalgamation  create  in  their  turn  another  desire  which 
is  manifested  in  the  success  gained  by  theosophy,  by  the 
Russian  novel,  and  finally  by  the  symbolist  poetry. 

Hindu  doctrines  came  back  into  favour  in  the  last 
fifteen  years  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  the 
fashion  to  be  Buddhist,  and  Jean  Lahor  (Henri  Cazalis) 
in  his  very  beautiful  verse  taught  us  the  philosophy  of 
Cakia-Mouni.  Even  Jules  Lemaitre,  at  that  time l  (quantum 
mutatus  ab  illo!)  wrote  that  Buddhist  doctrine  was  the  best 
salve  for  healing  suffering  thought. 

Elsewhere,  there  was  quite  a  renaissance  of  magic,  and 
M.  Peladan,  before  becoming  the  excellent  art  critic  he  is 
to-day,  modestly  called  himself  Sar  Peladan. 

Further,  Charcot's  experiments  in  hypnotism  had  shown 
the  way  in  a  direction  where  many  minds  went  astray, 
but  where  M.  Pierre  Janet  has  made  some  very  fine 
discoveries.2 

Finally,  after  the  articles  of  M.  de  Vogue  in  the  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes  on  the  Russian  novel,  the  whole  of 
France  began  to  read  the  works  of  Dostoiewski  and 
Tolstoy,  charmed  with  the  heroic  mysticism  with  which 
the  works  of  these  two  masters  are  imbued. 

Then  appeared  a  perfect  pleiad  of  writers  (those  writers 
we  are  going  to  consider  in  this  study),  who  declared 
that  the  world  as  presented  by  science  was  too  cut  and 
dried,  or  too  stupid.  They  delighted  in  seeing  the  infinite 
in  everything.  Some  of  them  went  into  raptures  over  the 
eternullite  du  monde — to  use  the  expression  of  one  of  them, 
Laforgue.  Others  fled  from  anarchy  to  Rome.  We  are 
still  too  close  to  the  movement  to  be  able  to  pass  cool 
judgment  upon  it;  it  is  for  posterity  to  pronounce  upon  the 
masterpieces  which  grew  up  in  the  shadow  of  Baudelaire. 

1  1889. 

a  Pierre  Janet.     '  L'automatisme    psychologique :     Essai    de    psychologic 
experimentale.'     1889. 


PART    III 


PREDECESSORS 

I 
EDGAR  POE 

WE  have  already  studied  those  men  who,  by  reason  of 
the  part  they  play  in  the  circumstances  which  lead  to  the 
development  of  Baudelairism,  may  justly  be  called  the 
predecessors  of  Baudelaire  himself.  But  there  is  another 
class  of  predecessors  (though  the  two  classes  are  by  no 
means  mutually  exclusive),  those  who  directly  influence 
the  coming  writer  by  their  writings.  Having  endeavoured 
to  present  the  chief  characteristics  of  Baudelaire's  work, 
we  shall  now  consider  to  what  extent  we  can  trace  these 
characteristics  back  to  his  reading. 

Of  all  these  predecessors  the  most  original  was  perhaps 
Edgar  Poe.  There  is  a  tendency  just  now  among  English 
and  American  critics  to  decry  Poe l ;  it  is  the  old  story  of 
Tennyson's  fable  :— 

'  Most  can  raise  the  flower  now 
For  all  have  got  the  seed.' 

But  it  should  be  remembered  that  Poe  did  really  bring  a 
new  element  into  literature — the  element  of  artistic  horror. 
This  is  something  quite  apart  from  the  supernatural  of 
Walpole's  Castle  of  Otranto  with  its  sighing  portraits 
and  mysterious  helmets,  or  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  ghostly 
machinery,  or  of  '  Monk '  Lewis's  spirits  and  demons. 

1  The  latest  study  of  Poe  by  Mr.  Arthur  Ransome  (1910)  is  an  exception  to 
this. 

63 


64         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Before  Poe  the  novelists  in  this  department  had  produced 
little  of  any  real  artistic  or  literary  value. 

Poe,  in  one  side  of  his  work,  brought  to  this  crude 
supernatural  a  psychological  and  artistic  interest,  and 
thereby  showed  the  way  to  a  new  and  fertile  field  of 
literature  into  which  domain  Baudelaire  was  the  first  to 
follow. 

There  are  indeed  some  striking  resemblances  between 
Poe  and  Baudelaire.  In  the  first  place,  their  life  is  not 
without  analogy.  Both  had  the  misfortune  to  displease 
their  father  by  choosing  a  literary  career.  Both  worked 
in  surroundings  that  were  uncongenial  to  them  :  Poe  in 
that  America  which  Baudelaire  characterised  as  a  *  great 
gas-lit  barbarism ' ;  Baudelaire  in  Belgium,  of  which  his 
mildest  criticism  is  that  it  is  a  country  of  fools.  Finally, 
both  sought  by  means  of  artificial  sensation  to  find  relief 
from  oppressive  reality.  The  end  of  both  is  tragically 
sombre  :  Baudelaire  dragging  out  the  two  last  years  of 
his  existence  with  brain  paralysis  ;  Poe  falling  into  the 
hands  of  political  blackmailers,  plied  with  drink,  and 
carried  round  from  polling-booth  to  polling-booth, 
then  abandoned  in  the  street.  He  was  discovered  next 
morning,  recognised  and  taken  to  the  hospital,  where  he 
died  soon  after. 

The  resemblances  in  the  work  of  the  two  poets  are 
even  stronger.  M.  Crepet  has  told  us  how  Baudelaire's 
enthusiasm  grew  when  once  he  had  begun  reading  Poe  : 
*  I  have  rarely  seen  an  enthusiasm  so  complete,  so  rapid, 
so  absolute.  He  would  go  about  asking  every  new-comer, 
wherever  he  were,  in  the  street  or  a  cafe,  or  a  printing 
establishment,  morning  or  evening,  "  Do  you  know 
Edgar  Poe?"  and  according  to  the  reply  he  would  either 
pour  out  his  enthusiasm  or  shower  questions  on  his 
hearer.'  The  reason  for  this  enthusiasm  was  that  in  Poe, 
Baudelaire  had  discovered  a  mind  very  like  his  own.  In 
a  letter  to  Armand  Fraisse  of  1858  he  says  : — 


PREDECESSORS  65 

'In  1846  or  1847  I  became  acquainted  with  a  few  fragments  of 
Edgar  Poe.  I  experienced  a  peculiar  emotion ;  as  his  complete  works 
were  not  collected  till  after  his  death,  I  had  the  patience  to  make 
friends  with  some  Americans  living  in  Paris,  so  as  to  borrow  from 
them  collections  of  papers  that  had  been  edited  by  Edgar  Poe. 
And  then  I  found — believe  me  or  not,  as  you  will — poems  and 
tales  of  which  I  had  already  a  vague,  confused  and  ill-ordered  idea, 
and  which  Poe  had  known  how  to  arrange  and  bring  to  perfection.' 

And  six  years  later,  in  a  letter  he  wrote  to  M.  Thore  to 
defend  Manet  against  the  charge  of  having  copied  Goya, 
he  says  : — 

'You  doubt  whether  such  geometrical  parallelisms  can  present 
themselves  in  nature.  Well  then — I  am  accused  of  imitating  Edgar 
Poe !  Do  you  know  why  I  translated  Poe  with  such  patience  ? 
Because  he  was  like  me.  The  first  time  that  I  opened  a  book  of  his, 
I  saw  with  terror  and  delight  not  only  subjects  I  had  dreamed  of, 
but  sentences  that  I  had  thought  of,  and  that  he  had  written  twenty 
years  before.' 

Let  us  then  now  consider  the  work  of  these  two  poets. 
First,  we  find  in  both  the  same  theory  of  art :  that  beauty 
must  be  considered  as  an  end  and  not  as  a  means  to  an 
end,  and  with  this  the  hatred  of  the  didactic.  This  last 
Poe  calls  '  a  heresy  too  palpably  false  to  be  long  tolerated, 
but  one  which,  in  the  brief  period  it  has  already  endured, 
may  be  said  to  have  accomplished  more  in  the  corruption 
of  our  poetic  literature  than  all  its  other  enemies  com- 
bined. ...  It  has  been  assumed  tacitly  and  avowedly, 
directly  and  indirectly,  that  the  ultimate  object  of  all 
poetry  is  truth.  Every  poem,  it  is  said,  should  inculcate 
a  moral,  and  by  this  moral  is  the  poetical  merit  of  the 
work  to  be  adjudged.  .  .  .  We  have  taken  it  into  our 
heads  that  to  write  a  poem  simply  for  the  poem's  sake, 
and  to  acknowledge  such  to  have  been  our  design,  would 
be  to  confess  ourselves  radically  wanting  in  the  true 
poetic  dignity  and  force ;  but  the  simple  fact  is,  that 
would  we  but  permit  ourselves  to  look  into  our  own 

E 


66         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

souls,  we  should  immediately  there  discover  that  under 
the  sun  there  neither  exists  nor  can  exist  any  work  more 
thoroughly  dignified,  more  supremely  noble  than  this 
very  poem,  this  poem  per  se,  this  poem  which  is  a  poem 
and  nothing  more,  this  poem  written  solely  for  the  poem's 
sake.' 

And  here  is  Baudelaire's  view  :— 

1  The  more  art  aims  at  being  philosophically  clear,  the  more  will 
it  degrade  itself,  the  more  will  it  return  towards  the  state  of  the 
infantile  hieroglyphic ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  more  art  detaches 
itself  from  teaching,  the  higher  it  will  mount  towards  pure  and 
disinterested  beauty.' — UArt  Philosophique. 

Speaking  of  drames  et  romans  honnetes  Baudelaire  returns 
again  to  his  subject : — 

'Is  art  useful?  Yes.  Why?  Because  it  is  art.  Is  there 
such  a  thing  as  harmful  art?  Yes — that  which  upsets  the 
conditions  of  life.  Vice  is  attractive,  then  you  must  paint  it  so ; 
but  it  drags  in  its  wake  its  peculiar  maladies  and  sorrows;  you 
must  describe  them.  .  .  .  The  first  necessary  condition  of  healthy 
art  is  the  belief  in  an  integral  unity,  I  defy  you  to  find  me  a 
single  imaginative  work  which  combines  all  the  conditions  of  the 
beautiful,  and  which  is  a  harmful  work.' 

Like  Gautier  in  this  theory,  Poe  and  Baudelaire  are 
like  him  again  in  their  profession  that  V inexprimable 
riexiste  pas — Poe  speaking  of  himself  as  one  who 

'  Maintained  the  power  of  words — denied  that  ever 
A  thought  arose  within  the  human  brain 
Beyond  the  utterance  of  the  human  tongue.' 

Both  Poe  and  Baudelaire  have  a  decided  taste  for  the 
horrible.  Only  here  there  is  a  difference  ;  it  were  better 
perhaps  to  say  that  Poe  has  a  predilection  for  horror,  and 
Baudelaire  for  the  horrible.  Poe  in  his  taste  is  much  more 
*  popular '  than  Baudelaire  ;  Poe  loved  a  good  thorough- 
going crime,  is  led  sometimes  to  descend  to  the  level  of 
the  shilling  shocker.  Many  of  his  tales  are  written  to 


PREDECESSORS  67 

merely  present  a  hair-raising  situation,  a  terrifying  state 
of  mind — such  as  the  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,  The 
Masque  of  the  Red  Death,  The  Tell-Tale  Heart,  or  The 
Black  Cat,  with  its  wealth  of  nauseous  detail. 

On  this  subject  much  has  been  said  of  Baudelaire's  '  La 
Charogne,'  which  critics  compare  with  Poe's  '  Conqueror 
Worm,'  insisting,  and  rightly,  that  Baudelaire  has  here 
out-Poe'd  Poe  in  horror.  But  from  the  fact  that  a  poem 
of  Poe's  suggests  a  poem  of  the  same  kind  to  his  successor, 
it  cannot  be  rigidly  deduced  that  the  latter's  ideas  on 
the  general  subject  are  identical  with  those  of  his  pre- 
decessor. Baudelaire's  poem  is  rather  the  outcome  of  his 
habit  of  looking  at  things  from  Flaubert's  point  of  view, 
who  said :  '  I  have  never  looked  at  a  child  without 
thinking  that  it  will  grow  old,  nor  can  I  look  on  a  cradle 
without  thinking  of  a  tomb.  To  contemplate  a  woman 
makes  me  think  of  her  skeleton.'  In  this  province 
Baudelaire  is  the  artist,  Poe  the  novelist. 

Further.  For  Baudelaire  there  is  no  beauty  without 
some  mystery : — 

'He  who  looks  through  an  open  window,'  says  Baudelaire, 
4  never  sees  so  much  as  he  who  looks  at  a  closed  window.  There 
is  no  object  so  profound,  so  mysterious,  so  fertile,  so  dark,  so 
dazzling  as  a  window  lit  up  by  a  candle.  What  you  can  see  in 
the  sunshine  is  always  less  interesting  than  what  goes  on  behind  a 
window.' — Les  Fenetres. 

It  is  the  poetic  mystery  that  attracts  Baudelaire.  He  said 
in  his  Mademoiselle  Bistouri-.  'I  am  passionately  fond 
of  a  mystery,  because  I  am  always  in  hopes  of  unravell- 
ing it.'  Poe,  too,  hopes  to  unravel  his  mystery,  but  in 
a  different  sense  from  Baudelaire.  For  Poe  '  mystery ' 
means  a  crime  of  which  the  perpetrator  is  unknown,  and 
whom  the  novelist  has  to  discover.  The  offspring  of  Poe 
in  this  region  is  Sherlock  Holmes.  In  the  same  way  the 
abstract  mystery — the  mystery  of  the  universe — has  no 


68         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

hold  on  Poe.  Spiritual  philosophy  is  as  absent  from  his 
work  as  the  didactic  aim.  Yet  the  works  of  his  two 
greatest  disciples,  Baudelaire  and  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam, 
are  full  of  searchings  into  these  very  problems. 

Baudelaire  is  urged  by  his  curiosity  to  go  into  the 
public  gardens  in  order  to  watch  les  petites  meilles,  and 
pursue  the  reveries  they  suggest.  Poe  watches  a  crowd. 
A  man  in  it  attracts  his  attention  ;  so  active  is  his  curiosity 
that  he  follows  this  man  all  night,  and  it  is  not  till  morning 
that  he  has  time  to  ponder  and  to  see  in  this  man  *  the 
type  of  genius  and  deep  crime,'  and  to  give  up  hope  of 
reading  in  his  heart.  '  The  worst  heart  of  the  world  is  a 
grosser  book  than  the  Hortulus  A  nimce ;  and  perhaps  it 
is  one  of  the  great  mercies  of  God  that  this  book  '  lasst 
sich  nicht  lesen  ! ' 

This  curiosity  leading  on  to  dreamy  humour  is  a  sign 
of  the  ardour  with  which  these  two  men  sought  to  forget 
their  unhappy  surroundings — a  dream  is  for  them  one  of 
the  principal  means  of  forgetfulness. 

*  Dreams,  always  dreams  ! '  cries  Baudelaire  in  his  Invitation  au 
Voyage,  'and  the  more  delicate  and  ambitious  the  soul,  the  more 
dreams  carry  it  far  from  the  possible.    Every  man  carries  within  him 
his  dose  of  natural  opium,  endlessly  secreted  and  renewed;  from 
birth  to  death  how  many  hours  can  we  count  filled  by  positive 
delight,  or  by  an  accomplished,  decided  action.' 

And  at  the  end  of  his  Projets  de  Voyages  he  exults  in  the 
power  of  dream  : — 

*  To-day  in  my  dreams  I  have  had  three  domiciles  in  which  I 
found  equal  pleasure.    Why  force  my  body  to  change  its  place  when 
my  mind  travels  so  easily  ? ' 

Poe  said  of  himself  that  all  his  life  he  had  been  but  a 
dreamer,  that  in  dreaming  lay  ever  his  greatest  pleasure. 
*  To  muse  for  long  unwearied  hours  with  my  attention 
riveted  to  some  frivolous  device  on  the  margin  or  in  the 
typography  of  a  book  ;  to  be  absorbed  for  the  better  part 


PREDECESSORS  69 

of  a  summer's  day  in  a  quaint  shadow  falling  aslant  upon 
the  tapestry  on  the  floor ;  to  lose  myself  for  an  entire 
night  in  watching  the  steady  flame  of  a  lamp  on  the 
embers  of  a  fire  ;  to  dream  away  whole  days  over  the 
perfume  of  a  flower ;  to  repeat  monotonously  some 
common  word  until  the  sound  of  it,  by  frequent  repetition, 
ceased  to  convey  any  idea  whatever  to  the  mind  ;  to  lose 
all  sense  of  motion  or  physical  existence  by  means  of 
absolute  bodily  quiescence  long  and  obstinately  persevered 
in  :  such  were  a  few  of  the  most  common  and  least  per- 
nicious vagaries  induced  by  a  condition  of  the  mental 
faculties,  not  indeed  altogether  unparalleled,  but  certainly 
bidding  defiance  to  anything  like  analysis  or  explanation.' 
He  liked  to  think  of  the  universe  as  one  great  dream. 

'  All  that  we  see  or  seem, 
Is  but  a  dream  within  a  dream ' ; 

and  his  Eureka  was  offered  <  to  the  dreamers,  and  those 
who  put  faith  in  dreams  as  the  only  realities.' 

M.  Lauvriere  in  his  detailed  book  on  Poe  has  pointed 
out  the  dangers  to  which  such  a  temperament  lays  itself 
open  'when  all  the  fantasies  and  curiosities  of  the  in- 
terior life  triumph  over  the  demands  and  laws  of  the 
external  world,' — hysteria  is  according  to  him  the  com- 
monest of  them.  The  saddest  result  of  this  temper  comes, 
I  think,  when  the  dreams  turn  to  nightmares. 

The  dreamy  humour  appears  also  in  those  fables 
1  Silence,'  *  Shadow,'  of  which  we  are  reminded  by  such 
prose  poems  of  Baudelaire  as  <  L'Etranger,'  '  Les  Bienfaits 
de  la  Lune.'  When  Poe  and  Baudelaire  paint  Nature 
(in  the  landscape  sense  of  the  word),  they  always  call  forth 
a  dream-landscape,  a  landscape  which  is  imaginary,  fairy- 
like,  or  as  M.  Lemaitre  would  say  lunaire.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  we  know  that  Poe  had  intended  to  describe  in 
great  detail  a  moon-landscape,  as  he  tells  us  : — 

'  Fancy  revelled  in  the  wild  and  dreamy  regions  of  the  moon 


yo         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Imagination,  feeling  herself  for  once  unshackled,  roamed  at  will 
among  the  ever-changing  wonders  of  a  shadowy  and  unstable  land. 
Now  there  .were  hoary  and  time-honoured  forests,  and  craggy 
precipices,  and  waterfalls,  tumbling  with  a  loud  noise  into  abysses 
without  bottom.  Then  I  came  suddenly  into  still  noonday  solitudes, 
where  no  wind  of  heaven  ever  intruded,  and  where  vast  meadows  of 
poppies  and  slender  lily-looking  flowers  spread  themselves  out  a 
weary  distance,  all  silent  and  motionless  for  ever.  Then  again  I 
journeyed  far  down  away  into  another  country,  where  it  was  all  one 
dim  and  vague  lake,  with  a  boundary  line  of  clouds.  And  out  of 
this  melancholy  water  arose  a  forest  of  tall  eastern  trees  like  a 
wilderness  of  dreams.  And  I  bore  in  mind  that  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  which  fell  upon  the  lake  remained  not  on  the  surface  where 
they  fell — but  sank  slowly  and  steadily  down,  and  commingled  with 
the  waves,  while  from  the  trunks  of  the  trees  other  shadows  were 
continually  coming  out,  and  taking  the  place  of  their  brothers  thus 
entombed.  "This  then,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  "is  the  very  reason 
why  the  waters  of  this  lake  grow  blacker  with  age,  and  more 
melancholy  as  the  hours  run  on.'" 

This  is  a  perfect  example  of  dream-landscape. 

And  from  this  same  dreamy  temper  springs  the  habit  of 
assigning  a  kind  of  life  to  inanimate  objects.  With  Poe 
this  idea  turns  rather  to  the  terrible  side.  Perhaps  the 
best  example  comes  in  the  tale  Berenice.  At  the  sight 
of  Berenice's  smile  he  becomes  obsessed  with  the  idea  of 
her  teeth  : — 

'  I  surveyed  their  characteristics,  I  dwelt  upon  their  peculiarities, 
I  pondered  upon  their  conformation,  I  mused  upon  the  alteration 
in  their  nature.  I  shuddered  as  I  assigned  to  them  in  imagination 
a  sensitive  and  sentient  power,  and,  even  when  unassisted  by  the 
lips,  a  capability  of  moral  expression.  Of  Mademoiselle  Salle  it 
has  been  well  said,  Que  tons  ses  pas  etaient  des  sentiments^  and  of 
Berenice  I  more  seriously  believed,  que  toutes  ses  dents  etaient  des 
idles: 

With  Baudelaire  the  development  of  this  idea  is  rather 
purely  contemplative.  Take,  for  example,  the  opening  of 
the  Chambre  Double  : — 


PREDECESSORS  71 

*  A  room  which  is  like  a  dream,  a  truly  spiritual  room  whose 
stagnant  atmosphere  is  delicately  tinted  with  pink  and  blue. 

'  There  the  soul  takes  a  bath  of  idleness  perfumed  with  regret  and 
desire.  It  is  something  like  the  twilight,  blueish  with  a  tint  of  rose; 
a  voluptuous  dream  during  an  eclipse. 

'  The  furniture  takes  on  an  outstretched,  prostrate,  languid  form. 
The  furniture  seems  to  be  dreaming;  it  seems  endowed  with  a 
somnambulistic  life,  like  vegetable  and  mineral.  The  coverings 
speak  a  mute  language,  like  flowers,  skies,  or  sunsets.' 

This  is  the  trait  of  Baudelairism  which — as  we  shall 
see — was  so  enthusiastically  taken  up,  carried  to  excess 
even,  by  Rodenbach. 

In  their  love  of  the  mysterious  Poe  and  Baudelaire  had 
shown  themselves  members  of  the  romantic  movement ; 
the  same  is  true  of  their  theory  of  contrast,  of  joy  born  of 
misery,  and  of  vice  producing  virtue.  As  Poe  says  at  the 
beginning  of  Berenice  : — 

'Misery  is  manifold.  The  wretchedness  of  earth  is  multiform. 
Over-reaching  the  wide  horizon  as  the  rainbow,  its  hues  are  as 
various  as  the  hues  of  that  arch,  as  distinct  too,  yet  as  intimately 
blended.  Over-reaching  the  wide  horizon  as  the  rainbow !  How 
is  it  that  from  beauty  I  have  derived  a  type  of  unloveliness  ?  from 
the  covenant  of  peace  a  simile  of  sorrow  ?  But  as  in  ethics  evil  is 
a  consequence  of  good,  so  in  fact  out  of  joy  is  sorrow  born.' 

The  idea  of  these  two  alternatives  is  found  throughout 
Baudelaire's  *  Spleen  et  Ideal,'  but  true  Baudelairism  goes 
even  further  than  this  Byronism — putting  the  contrast 
into  one  and  the  same  person  : — , 

'  Je  suis  la  plaie  et  le  couteau, 
Je  suis  le  soufflet  et  la  joue, 
Je  suis  les  membres  et  la  roue, 
Et  la  victime  et  le  bourreau  ! ' 

As  for  the  verbal  imitations  of  Poe  in  Baudelaire,  M. 
Lauvriere  in  his  book  on  Poe  has  sought  them  out  with 
such  indefatigable  energy  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  quote 
him  on  this  subject.  As  he  well  remarks,  it  is  impossible 


72         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

to  read  <  Reversibilite,'  <  L' Irreparable,'  'L'Harmonie 
du  Soir,'  without  noticing  how  Baudelaire  employs  the 
Poesque  device  of  line — repetition.  '  Le  Flambeau  Vivant' 
was  directly  inspired  by  Poe's  sonnet  to  Helen.  The 
idea  les  marts,  les  pauvres  morts  ont  de  grandes  douleurs ' 
is  another  reminiscence  of  Poe  ;  and  again  when  Baude- 
laire describes  himself  as  one  of  those 

'  Au  rire  eternel  condamnes 
'Et  qui  ne  peuvent  plus  sourire ' 

he  must  have  had  in  mind  Poe's  lines  in  the  '  Haunted 

Palace '  :— 

'  Through  the  pale  door 
A  hideous  throng  rushed  out  for  ever 
And  laugh — but  smile  no  more.' 

In  the  same  way  in  the  Poemes  en  Prose,  Baudelaire's 
analysis  of  the  motives  of  wrongdoing  in  the  '  Mauvais 
Vitrier'  is  certainly  suggested  by  Poe's  *  Imp  of  the  Per- 
verse/just  as  <  Laquelle  est  la  Vraie  '  is  obviously  copied 
from  '  Morella.' 

Poe's  range  was  far  more  limited  than  that  of  Baude- 
laire ;  the  Frenchman  offers  us  a  far  more  complex  char- 
acter to  study.  One  of  the  reasons  for  this  lies  doubtless 
in  the  fact  that  Poe  never  really  spoke  out  about  himself— 
he  never  even  mentions  his  surroundings — Baudelaire 
records  all  the  problems  of  the  various  moods  of  his 
troubled  brain.  Poe  offers  us  no  criticism  of  life,  he 
accepts  it ;  therein  he  is  far  more  resigned  than  Baude- 
laire. There  is  no  counterpart  of  Baudelaire's  Revolte  in 
Poe's  work. 

It  is  by  this  aloofness  that  Poe  merits  Mr  Andrew 
Lang's  reproach  that  he  i  lacked  humanity.'  He  limited 
himself  entirely  to  the  unreal  world,  and  therefore  he  can 
only  appeal  to  us  in  a  certain  mood — and  he  gives  us 
nothing  to  carry  away. 


PREDECESSORS  73 


II 
SAINTE-BEUVE 

WHEN  we  tried  in  our  first  chapter  to  analyse  *  Baude- 
lairism,'  we  had  to  make  a  sketch  of  the  Baudelaire  who 
lay  slumbering  in  the  heart  of  Sainte-Beuve. 

Here  we  have  to  return  to  this  fertile  subject — without 
the  pretension  even  of  exhausting  it.  Sainte-Beuve  is 
indeed  the  Montaigne  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
everything  which  explains  him  must  be  in  some  way 
sacred  to  us. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  when  we  study  the 
relations  between  Sainte-Beuve  and  Baudelaire  is  the 
extreme  benevolence  with  which  the  fully  developed 
critic  (and  henceforth  a  very  classic  and  very  Latin  critic), 
treats  this  young,  unknown  and  '  Parnassian  '  poet.  The 
reason  is  that  in  the  author  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai  Sainte- 
Beuve  rediscovered  the  author  of  Joseph  Delorme,  of  the 
Consolations,  and  of  Volupte.  He  himself  wrote  to 
Baudelaire :  '  My  poetry  is  connected  with  yours.  I 
had  tasted  the  same  bitter  fruit,  full  of  ashes  at  the  heart.' 

And  from  his  '  Correspondance,'  we  see  that  Baudelaire 
had  a  sincere  affection  for  Sainte-Beuve. 

He  says  somewhere  of  himself:  '  My  affections  spring 
largely  from  the  mind,'  and  the  saying  applies  well  to  this 
particular  friendship. 

Baudelaire  loved  Poe,  because  he  thought  that  Poe 
resembled  him  ;  in  the  same  way,  what  attracted  him  in 
the  first  place  to  Sainte-Beuve  was  the  connection  he  saw 


74         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

between  Sainte-Beuve's  Poesies  de  Joseph  Delorme  and 
the  Fleurs  du  Mai. 

In  1866,  Baudelaire  wrote  in  a  letter  to  Sainte-Beuve  : — 

'  I  have  been  trying  to  plunge  myself  again  into  the  "  Spleen  de 
Paris  "  (prose  poem)  for  it  was  not  finished.  Well,  one  of  these  days 
I  hope  to  be  able  to  show  the  world  a  new  Joseph  Delorme 
fastening  his  rhapsodic  thought  to  every  accident  of  his  stroll  through 
life,  and  drawing  from  every  object  a  disagreeable  moral.  .  .  .  Joseph 
Delorme  came  in  there  quite  naturally.  I  have  taken  to  reading 
your  poems  again  ab  ovo. 

'  I  saw  with  pleasure  that  on  every  page  I  recognised  lines  that 
were  old  friends.  It  would  seem  that  I  had  not  such  bad  taste 
when  I  was  a  youngster.' 

In  this  same  letter  we  learn  that  Baudelaire's  favourites 
in  this  collection  of  poems  were  the  '  Sonnet  a  Mme.  G.,' 
'  Le  Joueur  d'Orgue,'  *  Dans  ce  cabriolet  de  place/ 

Baudelaire  and  Sainte-Beuve  have  the  same  deep  theory 
of  art :  you  must  pierce  below  the  surface  of  things,  try 
and  see  the  soul  lying  underneath  and  understand  its 
mystery.  Here  is  one  of  Joseph  Delorme's  Pensees  on 
this  subject : — 

'  The  feeling  for  art  implies  a  lively  and  intimate  understanding 
of  things.  While  most  men  stop  at  the  surface  and  appearance, 
while  the  real  philosophers  recognise  and  affirm  the  existence  of  a 
je  ne  sais  quoi  lying  beyond  natural  phenomena,  without  being  able 
to  determine  the  nature  of  this  je  ne  sais  quoi,  the  artist,  as  if  he 
were  endowed  with  a  separate  sense,  sets  himself  peacefully  to  work 
to  realise,  under  -this  visible  world,  the  second  and  wholly  interior 
world,  of  which  the  majority  ignore  the  existence,  while  the  philo- 
sophers limit  themselves  to  affirming  its  existence.  The  artist  is 
present  at  the  invisible  action  of  forces  and  sympathises  with  them 
as  with  a  soul,  he  has  received  at  birth  the  key  of  symbols  and  the 
understanding  of  figures ;  that  which  to  others  is  incoherent  or 
contradictory  is  for  him  merely  a  harmonious  contrast,  a  distant 
concord  of  the  universal  lyre.' 

In  1830  he  writes  to  his  good  friend  the  Abbe  Barbe  :— 


PREDECESSORS  75 

'  I  care  very  little  for  literary  opinions  .  .  .  what  I  attend  to 
seriously  is  life  itself,  its  aim,  the  mystery  of  our  own  hearts; 
happiness,  goodness ;  and  sometimes,  when  I  feel  sincerely  inspired, 
the  wish  to  express  these  ideas  and  feelings  in  accordance  with  the 
remote  type  of  eternal  beauty.' 

And  it  is  the  same  kind  of  beauty  which  attracts  both 
Sainte-Beuve  and  Baudelaire  ;  as  the  former  put  it :  '  I 
learnt ...  to  follow,  to  fear  and  desire,  that  type  of 
beauty  which  I  will  call  baneful.'1 

Sainte-Beuve  loves  a  beauty  which  holds  herself  aloof, 
which  is  not  the  popular  ideal  of  the  common  herd  : — 

' .  .  .  the  fact  is  that  beauty,  every  kind  of  beauty,  is  no  light  thing 
accessible  at  once  to  all ;  beyond  ordinary  beauty  there  is  another 
to  which  one  is  initiated,  and  the  steps  leading  up  to  it  must  be 
climbed  slowly,  like  those  of  a  temple  or  a  sacred  hill.' 

He  has  the  same  Baudelairian  theory  of  the  double 
aspect  of  the  universe  :  '  Idol  and  symbol,  revelation  and 
deception,  that  is  the  aspect  of  all  human  beauty  since  Eve/ 
which  recalls  Baudelaire's  words  :  *  As  quite  a  child  I 
felt  in  my  heart  two  contradictory  ideas :  the  horror  of 
life,  and  the  ecstasy  of  life.' — Mon  Cosur  mis  a  nu. 

Like  Baudelaire  again,  the  art  that  Sainte-Beuve  desires 
at  this  period  is  a  dreamy  art : — 

*  Had  it  been  given  me  to  organise  my  life  for  my  own  pleasure, 
I  would  have  wished  it  to  have  as  motto,  *  L'art  dans  la  reverie,  et 
la  reverie  dans  1'art.' — Pensees  de  Joseph  Delorme. 

Or  to  quote  from  his  poetry  : — 

'  Puisque  la  nuit  est  sans  nuages, 
Je  veux  rever,  rever  toujours ' ; 

and  the  same  idea  recurs  in  that  paragraph  in  Volupte 
where  he  speaks  of  the  great  influence  the  Livre  des 
Erreurs  de  la  Volonte  and  L'homme  du  Desir  had  upon 
him  :  '  One  truth  in  it  struck  me  among  others,  that  place 

1  Voluptt. 


76         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

where    it   is   said   that    man    has   his    birth    and   life   in 
thoughts/ 

Both  Baudelaire  and  Sainte-Beuve  possessed  an  in- 
satiable curiosity;  in  Sainte-Beuve  this  curiosity  is  a 
dominant  trait  in  his  character,  and  became  an  almost 
physical  need  of  investigation,  of  research,  of  compre- 
hension. This  it  is  that  made  him  such  a  great  critic. 
Joseph  Delorme  confesses  this  curiosity  : — 

*  Souvent  un  grand  desir  de  choses  inconnues, 
D'enlever  mon  essor  plus  haut  que  les  nues, 
De  ressaisir  dans  1'air  des  sons  evanouis, 
D'entendre,  de  chanter  mille  chant  inou'is, 
Me  prend  a  mon  reveil.' 

Or  in  these  quotations  from  Volupte  : — 

*  Curiosity  in  research  had  a  dangerous  attraction  for  me,  and 
without  the  pretext  of  honest  zeal  for  truth,  it  vigorously  decomposed 
what  remained  of  my  faith.' 

*  Entry  into  a  new  home  was  always  an  agreeable  discovery  for 
me ;   on  the  very  threshold  I  felt  a  kind  of  commotion ;   in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  I  would  construct  all  its  smallest  concerns. 
That  was  a  gift  with  me,  a  sign  by  which  I  should  have  read  the 
intentions  of  Providence  on  my  destiny.' 

This  curiosity,  this  desire  to  see  everything,  to  under- 
stand everything,  brings  with  it  the  fear  of  being  tied 
down  to  one  place.  As  Baudelaire  says  :  '  This  life  is  a 
hospital  wherein  each  patient  is  seized  with  the  desire  to 
change  his  bed,'  and  as  Sainte-Beuve  puts  it : — 

*  "  What !  tie  myself  down  ?  "  I  said  to  myself.     "  Tie  myself  down 
even  in  happiness ! "     And  face  to  face  with  this  solemn  idea,  a 
shiver  thrilled  my  whole  body.' 

'  There  rose  in  the  depths  of  my  being  a  presentiment  so  painful 
as  to  be  almost  exhausting,  and  which  warned  me,  in  its  wholly 
comprehensible  languour,  that  I  must  wait,  that  the  hour  for 
decisive  resolutions  had  not  yet  struck.  The  world,  travel,  the 
countless  chances  of  war  and  courts,  all  those  mysterious  calcula- 


PREDECESSORS  77 

tions  with  which  youth  is  so  lavish,  spread  themselves  before  my 
eyes  in  the  perspective  of  the  infinite,  collected,  floated  in  mobile 
form  under  the  tricks  of  light  in  the  shadow  of  the  thicket.  I  loved 
emotion,  and  misfortune  even  when  only  foreseen.' 

And  elsewhere  in  the  same  book  :— 

1 1  suffered  too  on  my  own  account  for  my  unsatisfied  powers,  for 
that  need  of  danger  and  renown  which  buzzed  in  my  ears,  for  those 
varied  tastes  which,  had  they  been  cultivated  in  time  and  favoured 
by  opportunity,  would,  I  presumed  to  think,  have  made  of  me  a 
political  orator,  a  statesman  or  a  warrior.  My  habitual  thoughts  of 
love  and  pleasure  which  overshadowed  all  others,  undermining  them 
little  by  little,  did  not  immediately  destroy  them ;  as  I  bathed  in  the 
overflowing  lake  of  my  languour,  I  frequently  struck  against  a  point 
of  these  more  cruel  rocks.' 

A  favourite  Baudelairian  theory  is  that  which  has  been 
well  called  la  consolation  par  les  arts  : — 

'  Oui,  le  plaisir  s'envole, 

La  passion  nous  ment ;  la  gloire  est  une  idole, 
Non  pas  PArt ;  1'Art  sublime,  eternal  et  divin 
Luit  comme  la  Vertu  ;  le  reste  seul  est  vain.3 

These  are  Sainte-Beuve's  words ;  here  are  Baude- 
laire's :— 

'  Fauconille  proved  for  me,  peremptorily,  irrefutably,  that  the 
intoxication  of  art  is  more  fitted  than  any  other  to  veil  the  terrors 
of  the  abyss ;  that  genius  can  act  a  comedy  on  the  brink  of  the 
tomb  with  such  joy  as  prevents  it  from  seeing  the  tomb,  lost  as  it 
becomes  in  a  paradise  which  excludes  all  idea  of  the  tomb  or 
destruction.' 

Baudelaire  refers  here  to  the  '  intoxication  of  art ' :  with 
him,  as  we  have  seen,  there  can  be  consolation  only 
through  oblivion,  and  there  is  no  oblivion  without  intoxi- 
cation of  one  sort  or  another.  Sainte-Beuve  felt  the  same 
thing : — 

'  I  learnt  that  with  sincere  and  tender  characters  voluptuousness 
is  the  initiation  into  vices  and  other  base  passions  which  they  would 


78         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

never  have  dreamed  of  in  the  beginning.  It  made  me  conceive  of 
intoxication,  for  in  the  evening  after  certain  days  I  who  am 
generally  moderate  have  gone  into  a  cafe,  and  asked  for  some 
strong  liqueur,  which  I  drank  down  eagerly.' 

Sainte-Beuve  is  in  a  way  as  much  enfant  de  son  siecle 
as  Baudelaire  ;  he  too  suffers  from  the  maladie  du  siecle — 
on  which  subject  we  may  follow  the  example  of  M.  Anatole 
France,  and  quote  Taine's  words  describing  it  as 

'  the  restlessness  of  Werther  and  of  Faust,  just  like  that  which,  at 
a  similar  moment,  agitated  man  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  I 
mean  that  discontent  with  the  present,  the  vague  desire  for  a  higher 
beauty  and  ideal  happiness,  that  painful  tending  towards  the  infinite. 
Man  suffers  by  reason  of  his  doubts,  and  yet  he  doubts,  he  tries  to 
grasp  his  beliefs  once  more,  they  melt  in  his  hands.' 

This  is,  indeed,  a  Baudelairian  state  of  mind  ;  Sainte- 
Beuve  may  be  said  to  have  cultivated  and  encouraged  it. 
It  is  he  himself  who  applies  St.  Augustine's  words  amabam 
amare  to  his  own  case. 

Such  a  state  of  mind  js  bound  to  produce  pessimism. 

*  I  learnt  that  for  man  each  morning  is  reparation,  each  day 
continual  ruin  ;  but  the  reparation  suffices  less  and  less,  and  the 
ruin  continues  to  increase.' 

This  is  one  of  the  irrefutable  conclusions  of  Volupte. 

As  a  pendant  to  this  conclusion  let  us  quote  that 
declaration  from  a  letter  to  the  Abbe  Barbe  which  evolves 
through  Joseph  Delorme,  the  Consolations,  and  Volupte: — 

'  After  many  philosophic  excesses  and  many  doubts,  I  hope  that  I 
have  arrived  at  believing  that  here  on  earth  there  is  no  peace  save 
in  religion,  the  orthodox  Catholic  religion  practised  intelligently  and 
submissively.  But  alas !  for  me  this  is  but  a  theoretical  result  or 
inward  appearance ;  and  I  am  far  from  arranging  my  life  and  all  my 
actions  as  they  should  be.' 

Here  we  see  the  Sainte-Beuve  who  was  able  to  write 
his  immortal  Port  Royal.  Later  on,  another  Sainte-Beuve 


PREDECESSORS  79 

appears— the  one  who  remembers  having  been  a  disciple 
of  Cabanis  and  of  Destutt  de  Tracy.  As  he  grew  older, 
Sainte-Beuve  became  more  and  more  sceptic.  This  is 
not  the  place  for  seeking  the  reasons  of  this  change,  but 
one  may  say  that  towards  the  end  of  his  life  his  philo- 
sophy is  that  of  the  Preacher,  '  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is 
vanity.' 

Baudelaire,  who  died  comparatively  young,  had  not 
time  to  complete  his  evolution  ;  all  that  one  can  say  is  that 
a  few  hopeful  phrases,  a  few  sincere  resolutions  are  to  be 
found  in  Mon  Cceur  mis  a  nu. 

1 1  swear  to  myself  to  lake  henceforward  these  rules  as  the  ever- 
lasting rules  of  my  life. 

'  To  pray  to  God  every  morning,  to  God  who  is  the  receptacle  of  all 
strength,  and  all  justice,  to  my  father ;  to  Mariette  and  to  Poe  as 
intercessors  ;  pray  them  to  lend  me  the  necessary  strength  for  doing 
my  duty,  and  to  grant  to  my  mother  life  long  enough  to  delight  in 
my  transformation,  to  work  all  day,  or  at  least  as  much  as  my 
strength  will  permit ;  to  trust  in  God,  that  is  to  say  in  Justice  itself, 
for  the  accomplishment  of  my  projects ;  and  every  evening  to  say  a 
fresh  prayer  to  ask  of  God  life  and  strength  for  my  mother  and 
myself;  to  divide  all  I  earn  into  four  parts — one  for  the  expenses  of 
daily  life,  one  for  my  creditors,  one  for  my  friends,  one  for  my 
mother ;  to  submit  to  the  principles  of  strictest  sobriety  of  which 
the  first  is  the  suppression  of  all  "  excitants,"  whatever  they  may  be.' 

Baudelaire's  attitude  in  these  matters  is  best  expressed 
by  the  closing  words  of  his  prose  poem,  '  Laquelle  est  la 
vraie?'  '  Like  a  wolf  caught  in  a  trap,  I  remain  perhaps 
for  ever  bound  to  the  tomb  of  the  ideal.' 


8o         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


III 
ALOYSIUS   BERTRAND 

BAUDELAIRE,   in   the   letter  to  Arsene  Houssaye  which 
serves  as  Preface  to  his  Petits  Poemes  en  Prose,  says  : — 

'  I  have  a  little  confession  to  make  to  you.  It  was  when  I  was 
looking  through  —  for  the  twentieth  time  at  least  —  the  famous 
Gaspard  de  la  Nuit  of  Aloysius  Bertrand  (for  has  not  a  book  that 
is  known  to  you  and  me  and  a  few  of  our  friends  every  right  to  be 
called  famous  ?)  that  the  idea  occurred  to  me  of  attempting  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind,  and  of  applying  to  the  description  of 
modern  life — or  rather  of  a  modern  and  more  abstract  life,  that 
process  which  he  applied  to  the  strangely  picturesque  ancient  life.' 

This  it  was  that  in  the  first  place  led  us  to  study 
Bertrand,  but  indeed  he  deserves  to  be  known  for  his  own 
sake.  He  was  long  forgotten  by  the  general  public,  or  at 
most,  remembered  only  by  Baudelaire's  passing  mention 
of  him,  or  by  the  statement  of  later  critics  that  Baudelaire 
owed  him  little  or  nothing.  In  1902,  however,  the 
Mercure  de  France  reissued  his  work  in  easily  access- 
ible form,  and  this  fact,  and  the  fact  that  the  book  has  a 
sale,  are  of  themselves  significant.  Modern  French  poetry 
is,  on  one  side,  with  de  Heredia  and  Henri  de  Regnier, 
descriptive.  Bertrand's  whole  art  is  descriptive,  his 
prose  poems  are  pictures,  his  turn  of  mind  is  pictorial, 
and  in  this  connection  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  had 
a  marked  talent  for  craftsmanship.  In  this  sense  Bertrand 
may  be  described  as  an  ancestor  of  all  the  Parnassians. 

Further,  the  qualities  of  Bertrand's  style  are  such  as  to 


PREDECESSORS  81 

keep  him  fresh.  He  knew  how  to  choose  picturesque  words 
of  which  the  picturesqueness  was  lasting,  and  thus  his 
scenes  are  still  living;  the  reader  of  1911  gets  just  as 
much  pleasure  out  of  them  as  the  reader  of  1843  can  have 
done.  Indeed,  when  we  come  to  study  this  curious  and 
original  talent,  far  from  being  surprised  that  it  should 
have  appealed  strongly  to  Baudelaire,  we  come  to 
wonder  that  he  did  not  make  more  than  passing  mention 
of  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit. 

Louis  Jacques  Napoleon  Bertrand  was  born  at  Ceva  in 
Piedmont  on  the  2oth  April  1807.  His  father  was  from 
Lorraine,  and  a  captain  in  the  gendarmerie  ;  his  mother 
was  Italian.  In  1814  the  family  came  to  France,  and 
settled  in  Dijon — for  which  town  Louis  Bertrand  always 
kept  so  great  an  affection. 

'J'aime  Dijon,'  he  says  in  the  Preface  to  Gaspard  de  la 
Nuit,  *  comme  1'enfant  sa  nourrice  dont  il  a  suce  le  lait, 
comme  le  poete  la  jouvencelle  qui  a  initie  son  coeur.' 

As  a  schoolboy  he  seems  to  have  shown  no  ordinary 
character  ;  he  took  no  part  in  his  schoolfellows'  amuse- 
ments, preferring  to  take  refuge  in  the  solitude  of  the 
Jardin  de  1'Arquebuse  of  Dijon,  sitting  under  the  famous 
old  black  poplar,  giving  rein  to  his  imaginative  fancies. 

He  cared  only  for  weird  books,  those  that  treated  of 
occult  sciences  or  macabre  subjects :  Hoffmann  had  a 
great  attraction  for  him.  One  of  the  greatest  of  his  youth- 
ful amusements  was  making  life-size  charcoal  sketches 
of  hanged  corpses  on  his  attic  walls,  which  made  the 
servants  scream  with  terror  to  Bertrand's  great  delight. 
His  brother  Frederic  wrote  of  him  as  being  nervous  to 
excess : — 

1  Haunted  by  troubled  visions,  dissatisfied  with  himself,  unjust 
towards  others,  giving  ear  to  unknown  voices  that  conversed  with 
him  in  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  moaning  of  the  wind,  the  cry 
of  an  osprey,  the  howl  of  a  dog  echoing  in  the  distance,  would 
strike  in  him  chords  of  a  hidden  instrument.' 

F 


82         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Those  who  knew  him  later  on  in  Paris  find  the  same 
traits  of  character.  Sainte-Beuve  tells  us  how  from  time 
to  time  you  would  discover  him  leaning  on  his  attic 
window-sill  talking  for  hours  at  a  time  with  the  weather- 
cock on  his  roof.  Victor  Pavie,1  too,  tells  us  that  some- 
times his  brain  became  so  full  of  dazzling  visions  that 
he  did  nothing,  *  but  waited  dreaming,  with  that  sublime 
incapacity  that  renders  your  man  of  genius  more  passive, 
more  inert  than  the  new-born  babe.' 

1  Un  rayon  1'eblouit,  une  goutte  1'enivre,' adds  Sainte- 
Beuve. 

It  was  in  Dijon  that  Bertrand  made  his  literary  debut 
in  a  paper  called  Le  Provincial,  which  was  devoted 
entirely  to  literary  questions  of  the  day,  and  which  for  a 
period  of  five  months  (ist  May  to  3Oth  September  1828) 
appeared  twice  a  week.  Bertrand's  contributions  include 
three  of  the  prose  poems  later  included  after  modification 
in  Gaspardde  la  Nuit:  'Les  Lavandieres  (Jean  des  Tilles),' 
'  Clair  de  Lune,'  *  La  Gourde  et  le  Flageolet  (L'air  magique 
de  Jehan  de  Vittreaux),'  and  some  poems.  The  following 
poem  he  dedicated  to  V.  Hugo  : — 

1  Victor  Pavie  is  an  interesting  figure.  His  grandfather  had  come  to  settle  in 
Angers  a  few  years  before  the  Revolution,  his  father  had  become  Imprimeur  du 
Roi  at  Angers,  and  there  Victor  Pavie  lived  all  his  life  with  the  exception  of  six 
years  spent  in  Paris.  During  these  six  years  he  was  the  friend  of  Nodier,  and 
of  Sainte-Beuve ;  he  was  always  a  welcome  guest  at  Victor  Hugo's,  where  he 
met  all  the  celebrities  of  the  day.  When  he  returned  to  Angers  he  took  over 
the  management  of  his  father's  printing  business,  but  at  the  same  time  wrote  a 
considerable  amount,  but  always  in  local  papers.  M.  Rene  Bazin  has  published 
two  volumes  of  QLuvres  Choisies,  but  the  bulk  of  Pavie's  work  must  be  sought 
in  the  Affiches  d?  Angers,  the  Union  de  F  Quest,  the  Revue  de  F  Anjou,  and  the 
Memoires  de  la  society  cf  agriculture,  sciences  et  arts,  and  they  are  worth  seeking 
out.  His  was,  as  M.  Bazin  puts  it,  a  'picturesque  mind.'  He  devotes  himself 
to  the  monuments  of  ancient  Angers  and  old-time  Anjou,  describes  them  and 
calls  up  again  their  glory.  He  was  always  ready  to  seize  any  pretext  '  to  under- 
take or  renew,'  for  himself  and  in  his  own  part  of  the  world  the  voyage 
pittoresque  et  romantique  a  travers  Fancienne  France,  which  Nodier  accomplished 
only  once.  In  the  same  way  it  is  mainly  through  his  two  editions  of  Joachim 
du  Bellay  and  Louis  Bertrand,  that  he  is  chiefly  remembered  at  the  present 
day. 


PREDECESSORS  83 

'  Comte  en  qui  j'espere, 
Solent  au  nom  du  Pere 

Et  du  Fils, 

Par  tes  vaillants  reitres, 
Les  felons  et  traitres 

Deconfits  ! 


Coucher  a  ta  porte, 
Quand  le  vent  n'apporte 

Cette  nuit, 
Sur  ce  lit  sans  toile 
Pas  meme  1'etoile 

De  minuit ! 

Les  murailles  grises, 
Les  ondes,  les  brises, 

La  vapeur, 
La  porte  propice 
Qu'une  terre  tapisse 

Me  font  peur. 

La-haut,  le  feu  terne 
De  quelque  lanterne 

Sous  1'auvent 
Qui  pend,  en  ruines 
Parmi  les  bruines, 

Tremble  au  vent. 

J'entends  un  vieux  garde 
Qui  de  loin  regarde 

Fuir  1'eclair 
Qui  chante  et  s'abrite 
Seul  en  sa  guerite, 

Centre  1'air. 

Je  vois  1'aube  naitre 
Pres  de  la  fenetre 

Du  manoir, 
De  dame  en  cornette 
Devant  Pepinette 

De  bois  noir. 

Et  moi,  barbe  blanche, 
Un  pied  sur  la  planche 
Du  vieux  pont, 


84         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

J'ecoute  et  personne 
A  mon  cor  qui  sonne 
Ne  repond. 

Comte  en  qui  j'espere 
Solent  au  nom  du  Pere 

Et  du  Fils 

Par  tes  vaillants  reitres 
Les  felons  et  traitres 

Deconfits  ! ' 

As  Sainte-Beuve  says  :  *  The  rhymes  and  the  rhythm 
would  be  enough  to  date  this  piece  without  any  further 
indication.  It  was  the  moment  of  the  ballad  of  le  roi 
Jean^  the  day  after  the  Ronde  du  Sabbat,  and  the  day 
before  les  Djinns.  Bertrand  with  his  melancholy  noc- 
turnal caprice  was  greatly  taken  with  these  tricks  ;  he, 
among  all,  may  be  said  to  have  remained  enamoured  of 
that  sprite,  that  sly  muse  :  Quern  tu  Melpomene  semelS 

Hugo's  reply  was  benevolent  and  thoroughly  charac- 
teristic. Any  yoting  poet  sending  verses  to  Hugo  was 
almost  sure  of  a  flattering  reply.  To  encourage  youthful 
writers  is  the  surest  means  of  gaining  their  admiration, 
and  the  admiration  of  the  younger  generation  is  a  great 
asset  for  the  poet  who  would  maintain  an  assured  position. 
It  would  be  interesting  to  make  a  collection  of  all  Hugo's 
letters  to  aspiring  poets  who  invoked  his  protection. 
Bertrand  quoted  this  letter  later  on  in  the  Patriote  de  la 
Cote  tf Or:— 

'  I  read  your  poems  to  a  circle  of  friends  as  I  read  Andre  Chenier, 
Lamartine,  or  Alfred  de  Vigny :  it  is  not  possible  to  have  more 
complete  command  of  the  secrets  of  technique.  Our  Emile 
Deschamps  would  avow  himself  equalled.  Send  me  often  from 
the  provinces  those  verses  like  which  so  few  are  made  in  Paris.' 

Sainte-Beuve  in  his  article  on  Bertrand  quotes  some 
other  early  poems,  written  in  1828  :  '  La  Jeune  Fille '  and 
*  L'Ange  EnvoleV  In  his  edition  of  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit 
of  1868,  Asselineau  collected  some  early  poems :  '  La 


PREDECESSORS  85 

Noufrice,'  a  Scotch  ballad  imitated  from  Walter  Scott, 
and  a  rendering  of  'Jock  o'  Hazeldean,'  the  '  Regrets,' 
which  we  quote  : — 

*  Lorsque,  revant  d'amour,  dans  1'oubli  de  la  vie, 
Nos  bras  s'entrelagaient,  ma  main  pressait  ta  main, 
Oh  !  qui  m'eut  dit  alors  qu'a  mes  baisers  ravie, 
Tu  me  fuirais  le  lendemain  ! 

Us  ne  reviendront  plus,  et  faut-il  te  1'ecrire  ! 
Ces  jours  si  tot  passes  et  passes  a  jamais, 
Ces  jours  purs  et  sereins,  tes  baisers,  ton  sourire, 
Et  jusqu'a  tes  pleurs  que  j'aimais. 

Alors,  jeunes  tous  deux  et  sans  inquietude, 
Et  goutant  du  plaisir  le  charme  empoisonneur, 
Ensemble  nous  cherchions  Pombre  et  la  solitude, 
Pour  y  cacher  notre  bonheur. 

Et  maintenant,  combien  il  fut  court  ce  beau  songe  ! 
Et  maintenant,  helas  !  separes  pour  toujours, 
Ce  doux  bonheur  n'est  plus  qu'un  aimable  mensonge 
Qui  caressa  nos  premiers  jours.' 


LA  JEUNE  FILLE 

'  Reveuse  et  dont  la  main  balance 
Un  vert  et  flexible  rameau, 
D'ou  vient  qu'elle  pleure  en  silence 
La  jeune  fille  du  hameau  ? 

Autour  de  son  front  je  m'etonne 
De  ne  plus  voir  ses  myrtes  frais  ; 
Sont-ils  tombes  aux  jours  d'automne 
Avec  les  feuilles  des  forets  ? 

Tes  compagnes  sur  la  colline 
T'ont  vue  hier  seule  a  genoux, 
O  toi  qui  n'es  point  orpheline, 
Et  qui  ne  priais  pas  pour  nous  ! 

Archange,  6  sainte  messagere, 
Pourquoi  tes  pleurs  silencieux  ? 
Est-ce  que  la  brise  legere 
Ne  veut  pas  t'enlever  aux  cieux  ? 


86         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Us  coulent  avec  tant  de  grace, 
Qu'on  ne  salt,  malgre  ta  paleur, 
S'ils  laissent  une  amere  trace, 
Si  c'est  la  joie  ou  la  douleur. 

Quand  tu  reprendras  solitaire 
Ton  doux  vol,  sceur  d'Alaciel, 
Dis-moi,  la  clef  de  ce  mystere 
L'emporteras-tu  dans  le  ciel  ? 

C'est  PAnge  envole  que  je  pleure 
Qui  m'eveillait  en  me  baisant, 
Dans  des  songes  eclos  a  1'heure 
De  Petoile  et  du  ver  luisant. 

Toi  qui  fus  un  si  doux  mystere, 
Fantome  triste  et  gracieux, 
Pourquoi  venais-tu  sur  la  terre, 
Comme  les  Anges  sont  aux  cieux  ? 

Pourquoi  dans  ces  plaisirs  sans  nombre, 
Oublis  du  terrestre  sejour, 
Ombre  reveuse,  aimai-je  une  ombre 
Infideleal'aubedujour?5  1 

In  1829,  encouraged  by  his  local  successes,  Bertrand 
decided  to  go  to  Paris.  There  is  a  sublime  temerity 
about  the  way  in  which  the  provincial  man  of  letters  will 
set  forth  with  sixpence  in  his  pocket  to  seek  fortune  in 
the  capital.  Bertrand  did  not  even  take  with  him  the 
commodity  of  good  health,  consumption  had  already  laid 
its  dread  hands  upon  him.  Victor  Pavie,  speaking  of  his 
first  meeting  with  Bertrand  in  Paris,  remarks  on  the 
husky  voice  betraying  the  delicate  chest. 

In  Paris  he  became  acquainted  with  Nodier,  V.  Hugo, 
Sainte-Beuve,  and  David  d'Angers. 

Victor  Pavie,  who  met  him  at  Nodier's  house,  describes 
him  as  : — 

'A  rather  awkward  young  man,  obviously  provincial,  speaking 
with  a  Burgundian  accent,  and  with  fiery  eyes  that  betrayed  the 
poet.  In  his  face  a  kind  of  feverish  dilettantism  mingled  with  a 

1  The  three  last  stanzas  do  not  occur  in  Asselineau's  edition. 


PREDECESSORS  87 

somewhat  uncouth  sullenness ;  it  was  only  too  easy  to  recognise  one 
of  those  victims  of  their  ideals  and  caprices  who  are  driven  forth 
from  their  native  provinces  by  incompatibility  of  race,  and  come  to 
seek  fortune  and  misery  in  Paris.' 

On  this  particular  occasion,  reading  was  the  order 
of  the  evening.  Bertrand  delivered  his  contribution 
nervously,  standing  on  one  foot  '  like  a  crane  on  one  leg,' 
but  with  no  less  effect  for  that.  It  was  a  kind  of  ballad 
i  carved  like  a  chalice,  coloured  like  a  stained  window,  in 
which  the  rhymes  rang  like  the  notes  of  a  Bruges  peal,' 
and  of  which  the  striking  feature  was  the  recurrence  of 
those  two  lines  : — 

'  L'on  entendait  le  soir  sonner  les  cloches 
Du  gothique  couvent  de  Saint-Pierre  de  Loches.' 

When  he  had  finished,  seized  with  shyness,  he  went 
and  hid  himself  in  a  corner  by  the  window.  It  was  Sainte- 
Beuve  who  sought  him  out  and  talked  to  him.  The  great 
critic  with  his  insatiable  interest  in  everything — an  ex- 
cellent thing  in  critics — was  immediately  attracted  by  the 
originality  of  Bertrand  who,  in  his  turn,  was  grateful  for 
the  kindly  attention,  and  it  was  to  Sainte-Beuve  in  the 
first  place  that  Bertrand  carried  his  manuscript  of  Gaspard 
de  la  Nuit. 

After  this  famous  evening,  Bertrand  disappeared  for 
some  months  ;  the  next  we  hear  of  him  is  of  his  visiting 
Sainte-Beuve  armed  with  the  manuscript  of  Gaspard  de  la 
Nuit.  A  few  days  later  David  and  Pavie  went  to  visit 
Sainte-Beuve,  and  found  him  surrounded  with  leaves  of 
this  manuscript  of  which  he  spoke  with  the  greatest 
enthusiasm.  He  read  to  his  visitors  '  Le  Ma£on/ 
1  Harlem,'  *  La  Viole  de  Gamba,'  *  Padre  Pugnaccio,' 
and  '  L'Alchimiste.'  '  Nous  sortimes  de  chez  lui  avec 
des  bluettes  sur  les  yeux,'  says  Pavie. 

Eugene  Renduel,  the  publisher,  was  also  seized  with 
the  same  enthusiasm,  and  consented  to  publish  the  manu- 
script. He  planned  an  edition  de  luxe  ;  Victor  Pavie  has 


88         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

described  how  it  was  to  have  been.     There  were  to  be 
illustrations  suited  to  the  subjects  : — 

'  Cranes  and  storks  with  wings  entangled  were  to  embroider  the 
azure  margins,  whereon  will-o'-the-wisp  would  be  seen  caught  in  a 
witch's  hair ;  the  earth  was  to  have  been  seen  as  a  corolla  with  the 
moon  for  pistil  and  the  stars  for  stamens;  and  at  the  bottom  very 
far  away  the  immortal  shadow  of  Jacquemart  showing  its  profile 
in  the  dusk.' 

But  these  projects  were  too  magnificent,  the  publication 
was  continually  being  put  off,  and  in  the  meantime 
Bertrand  had  returned  to  Dijon,  where  from  1831-35 
he  and  Charles  Brugnot  directed  their  newspaper  the 
Patriote  de  la  Cote  d'Or.  In  1835  he  came  back  to 
Paris  and  obtained  there  the  post  of  secretary  to  the 
Count  Roedecker,  an  occupation  so  little  suited  to  his 
temperament  that  he  soon  gave  it  up. 

As  we  have  said,  he  was  consumptive,  and  now  he  fell 
into  deep  poverty — ever  the  worst  of  remedies  for  any 
disease,  and  went  wandering  about  Paris  from  attic  to 
garret  till,  in  1841,  he  was  taken  in  at  the  Necker  Hospice 
and  after  a  few  weeks  died  there. 

It  was  in  this  hospital  that  chance  again  brought  him 
into  contact  with  David  d'Angers.  The  great  sculptor 
had  been  attracted  by  Bertrand's  talent  ever  since  that 
visit  to  Sainte-Beuve  of  which  we  have  spoken.  He  had 
sought  him  out  in  Paris,  but  without  success,  and  his 
intimate  relations  with  Bertrand  only  began  in  those  last 
six  weeks  in  the  hospital.  Bertrand  seems  to  have  wished 
to  die  unrecognised  and  alone,  like  some  poor  animal 
who  creeps  away  to  a  lonely  spot — for  he  had  recognised 
David  much  earlier  when  he  used  to  come  to  the  hospital 
to  visit  a  young  friend  of  his  ;  but  Bertrand  hid  his  head 
under  his  sheet  in  order  not  to  be  recognised,  till  later  on 
his  utter  loneliness  grew  too  strong — he  called  David  to 
his  bedside.  David  obtained  the  sum  of  three  hundred 


PREDECESSORS  89 

francs  for  him  from  the  minister  of  public  education  and 
remained  with  him  to  the  end,  and  buried  him.  Bertrand's 
last  moments  were  cheered  by  this  sympathetic  presence  ; 
up  to  the  last  he  was  making  plans  for  the  perfection  and 
publication  of  his  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit.^ 

At  the  end  of  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit  we  find  these  lines 
addressed  to  David  ;  they  seem  to  us  a  fit  epitaph  for  this 
pathetic  life  : — 

*  And  I  have  prayed,  loved  and  sung,  a  poor  and  suffering  poet ! 
And  it  is  in  vain  that  my  heart  is  overflowing  with  faith,  love,  and 
genius. 

*  I  was  born  an  abortive  eaglet.     The  egg  of  my  destinies,  which 
the  wings  of  prosperity  never  warmed,  is  as  hollow,  as  empty  as  the 
Egyptian's  golden  nut. 

'  Ah  !  tell  me  then  if  so  be  thou  knowest,  man,  that  frail  plaything 
cutting  capers  as  he  hangs  from  the  string  of  his  passions,  is  he 
nothing  but  a  puppet  worn  out  by  life,  broken  by  death  ? ' 

After  Bertrand's  death  David  bought  back  the  manu- 
script from  Renduel,  and  undertook  the  publishing  of  it. 
Sainte-Beuve  consented  to  write  an  introductory  notice, 
and  to  Victor  Pavie  fell  the  share  of  printing  it. 

'  I  will  print  it/  said  Pavie.  *  I  shall  print  it  as  it  is,  without 
ornaments,  arebesques  or  ';  vignettes.  He  has  suffered  all  too  much 
from  all  the  vanity  of  these  dilatory  illustrations  :  a  truce  to  all  this 
grandeur  and  length ;  besides  he  carries  himself  enough  rubies  and 
carbuncles  to  sparkle  all  alone,  even  in  the  night.  I  shall  print  it 
in  our  house  whence  his  name  will  emanate  with  the  perfume  of 
a  November  violet,  flower  of  graves,  month  of  the  dead.  Louis 
Bertrand's  cause  is  the  provincial  cause.' 

These  lines  are  quoted  from  an  article  which  Pavie 
probably  wrote  as  a  prospectus  when  he  first  thought  of 
printing  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit.  The  article  is  not  to  be 
found  at  the  beginning  of  his  edition  ;  perhaps,  having 
obtained  Sainte-Beuve's  article  he  feared  to  offend  the 
great  critic  by  inserting  his  own  ;  or,  perhaps,  he  did  not 

1  The  museum  of  Angers  possesses  two  drawings  by  David  of  Bertrand  on  his 
deathbed. 


90         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

want   to   be   eclipsed,    in   which   last  case   his   fear  was 
groundless. 

The  title-page  of  the  first  edition  runs  thus  :— 

GASPARD  DE  LA  NUIT. 

Fantaisies. 

A  la  maniere  de  Rembrandt  et  de  Callot 

par  Louis  BERTRAND 

precede  d'une  notice 

par  M.  SAINTE-BEUVE. 

Angers. 

Imprimerie  Libraire  de  V.  Pavie,  Rue  St.  Laud, 

Paris  chez  Labitte,  Quai  Voltaire. 

1842. l 

The  other  editions  of  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit  are : 
Asselineau's,  1868,  enlarged  by  the  inclusion  of  some 
prose  and  verse  pieces  from  the  periodicals  of  the  time. 
There  was  a  de  luxe  edition  of  this  with  a  frontispiece  by 
Felicien  Rops,  edited  by  Poulet  Malassis.  In  1902  the 
Mercure  de  France  republished  the  work  in  an  ordinary 
paper  edition. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  work  itself.  Bertrand  is  a 
thoroughgoing  Romantic,  and  all  the  romantic  devices 
appeal  to  him  ;  for  instance,  he  discarded  the  name  of 
Louis  and  via  that  of  Ludovic  arrived  finally  at  the  im- 
posing Aloysius.  He  follows,  too,  the  fashion  of  literary 
adoptions  and  presents  us  to  the  author  of  the  Fantaisies 
as  an  old  man  he  encountered  one  day  in  the  Jardin  de 
1'Arquebuse  of  Dijon.  This  old  man  was  as  like  Bertrand 
as  a  brother  would  be,  and  in  describing  him  Bertrand 
meant  to  paint  his  own  portrait  for  us  : — 

'  A  poor  wretch  whose  appearance  told  of  distress  and  suffering. 
I  had  already  noticed  in  the  same  garden  his  threadbare  coat 
buttoned  up  to  his  chin ;  his  shapeless  hat  that  no  brush  had  ever 

1  This  edition  is  exceedingly  rare. 


PREDECESSORS  91 

touched;  his  long  willowy  hair,  all  bushy;  his  hands,  fleshlessas  a 
skeleton's;  his  quizzical,  pitiful,  sickly  face,  sharpened  off  by  a 
Nazarenean  beard,  and  my  conjectures  had  charitably  ranked  him 
with  those  fifth-rate  artists,  violinists,  portrait-painters,  whom  an 
insatiable  hunger  and  inextinguishable  thirst  force  to  roam  the  world 
on  the  track  of  the  wandering  Jew.' 

This  peculiar  person  begins  a  conversation,  and  enters 
upon  a  long  disquisition  on  the  question  '  What  is  art?' 
In  the  course  of  it  he  carries  us  through  old  Dijon,  a 
Dijon  of  the  Middle  Ages,  as  striking  as  the  Gothic  Paris 
of  Victor  Hugo.  Bertrand  possessed  to  an  extraordinary 
extent  the  power  of  rendering  the  life  and  the  atmosphere 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  As  he  himself  says  of  his  descriptions 
of  old  Dijon  :  *  J'avais  galvanise  un  cadavre  et  ce  cadavre 
s'etait  leve.' 

For  him  the  sculpture  of  the  Middle  Ages  lives.  Here 
is  one  of  his  experiences  as  told  by  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit 
in  his  conversation  on  art : — 

'  One  day  I  was  busying  myself  before  the  Church  of  Notre-Dame 
with  considering  Jacquemart  and  his  wife  and  child  striking  midday. 
...  A  burst  of  laughter  made  itself  heard  high  up,  and  in  a  corner 
of  the  Gothic  building  I  caught  sight  of  one  of  those  monstrous 
figures  that  the  sculptors  of  the  Middle  Ages  fastened  by  their 
shoulders  to  the  gutters  of  cathedrals ;  a  dreadful,  accursed  form, 
which,  racked  by  suffering,  thrust  out  its  tongue,  ground  its  teeth, 
wrung  its  hands.  It  was  it  that  had  laughed.  .  .  .  The  stone  figure 
had  laughed — a  distorted,  terrible  infernal  laugh,  but  which  was 
sarcastic,  incisive,  picturesque.' 

This  is  the  same  Bertrand  that  we  heard  of  keeping  up 
a  running  conversation  with  a  weathercock. 

Gaspard's  conclusion  on  the  subject  of  art  is  that  it  does 
exist : — 

'  Art  exists — but  in  the  bosom  of  God  !  We  ourselves  are  but  the 
copyists  of  the  Creator.  The  most  magnificent,  triumphal,  and 
glorious  of  our  works  is  never  more  than  the  unworthy  imitation  of 
His  immortal  works.  All  originality  is  an  eaglet  which  breaks 
through  its  shell  only  in  the  sublime  and  fulminating  atmosphere  of 


92         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Sinai.  Long  did  I  seek  for  absolute  art.  Delirium !  madness ! 
Look  on  this  forehead  wrinkled  by  the  iron  crown  of  misfortune. 
Thirty  years,  and  the  secret  for  which  I  begged  so  hard  from  so 
many  stubborn  folk,  to  which  I  sacrificed  youth,  love,  pleasure, 
fortune,  the  secret  lies  insensible  as  the  common  stone  amidst  the 
ashes  of  my  illusions/ 

Which  conclusion  is  Romanticism  again — a  la  Chateau- 
briand. 

The  discourse  finished,  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit  gets  up  to 
go  ;  as  he  leaves  he  gives  Bertrand  a  manuscript  to  read 
which  he  says  will  show  him  how  many  brushes  he  wore 
out  on  the  canvas  before  he  saw  the  vague  dawn  of  half 
light.  At  the  beginning  of  this  manuscript  is  written 
Gaspard  de  la  Nuit,  Fantaisies  a  la  maniere  de  Rem- 
brandt et  de  Callot.  Having  read  it  Bertrand  wishes  to 
return  it  to  its  owner,  but  although  he  seeks  him  every- 
where can  never  find  him.  The  reason  is  simple  when 
you  know  it,  simply  that  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit  is  the  Devil, 
on  which  discovery  Bertrand  very  properly  determines  to 
publish  the  manuscript. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  introduction.  In  the  little 
Preface  before  the  Fantaisies  Bertrand  explains  his 
aim  : — 

'  Art  has  always  two  antithetical  aspects,  like,  for  example,  a  medal 
one  side  of  which  bears  striking  resemblance  to  Paul  Rembrandt, 
and  the  reverse  to  Jacques  Callot.  Rembrandt  is  the  white-bearded 
philosopher  who  withdraws  like  a  snail  into  his  shell,  whose  thought 
is  all  absorbed  in  meditation  and  prayer,  his  eyes  shut  to  collect 
himself,  who  converses  with  the  spirits  of  beauty  and  science,  and 
who  wears  himself  out  trying  to  penetrate  the  mysterious  symbols  of 
Nature.  Callot,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  blustering  jovial  soldier  who 
struts  round  the  square,  makes  disturbance  in  the  taverns,  kisses  the 
gipsy  girls,  whose  only  oath  is  by  his  rapier  and  carbine,  and  who 
has  no  cares  beyond  that  of  waxing  his  moustache.  Now  the 
author  of  this  book  has  looked  at  art  in  its  double  personification  ; 
but  he  has  not  been  too  exclusive,  and  as  well  as  fantasies  in  the 
manner  of  Rembrandt  and  Callot,  you  will  find  studies  on  Van 
Eyck,  Lucas  de  Leyde,  Albert  Diirer,  Pieter  Neef,  Breughel  de 


PREDECESSORS  93 

Velours,  Breughel  d'Enfer,  Van  Ostade,  Gerard  Dow,  Salvator  Rosa, 
Murillo,  Fusely,  and  several  other  masters  of  different  schools.' 

We  will  begin  then  by  considering  the  purely  pictur- 
esque   fantasies.     This    leads    us   at    once    to    consider 
Bertrand's  historical  feeling.     It  was  Michelet  who,  at  a 
later   date,  said:    *  L'histoire  est   une   resurrection,'  and 
Bertrand  understood  history  in  just  the  same  way.     He 
has  the  power  of  making  the  Middle  Ages  live  for  us  as 
they  did  for  him.     Take,  for  example,  '  Harlem  ' : — 
'  Quand  d' Amsterdam  le  coq  d'or  chantera 
La  poule  d'or  de  Harlem  pondera.' 

Les  Centuries  de  Nostradamus. 

1  Harlem,  that  wonderful  curious  picture,  which  sums  up  all  the 
Flemish  School,  Harlem  as  Jean  Breughel,  Peter  Neef,  David 
Teniers,  and  Paul  Rembrandt  painted  it : 

*  And  the  canal  with  its  trembling  blue  water,  the  church  with  its 
stained  glass  window  blazing  like  gold,  and  the  stone  balcony  with 
the  washing  drying  in  the  sun,  and  the  roofs  green  with  hops : 

'And  the  storks  beating  their  wings  round  the  town-hall  clock, 
stretching  their  necks  straight  up  into  the  air  to  catch  the  raindrops 
in  their  beaks : 

4  And  the  jolly  old  burgomaster  stroking  his  double  chin  with  his 
fat  hand,  and  the  florist  in  love  with  a  flower  growing  thin,  his  eye 
fixed  on  a  tulip : 

'  And  the  gipsy  girl  in  rapture  over  her  mandoline ;  and  the  old 
man  playing  the  rommelpot,  and  the  child  blowing  out  a  bladder : 

'  And  the  carousers  drinking  in  an  evil  tavern,  and  the  inn-servant 
hanging  up  a  dead  pheasant  at  the  window.' 

Or  take  the  '  Ma9on  '  which  Sainte-Beuve  chose  to  read 

Pavie  and  David  : — 

THE  MASON. 

4  The  Master-mason-.  "See  these  bastions,  these  buttresses:  one 
would  say  they  had  been  built  to  last  for  ever" — SCHILLER,  Wilhelm 
Tell. 

1  The  mason  Abraham  Knupfer  sings,  his  trowel  in  his  hand,  on  a 
scaffolding  so  high  in  the  air  that  when  he  reads  the  gothic  lines 
graven  on  the  great  bell  his  feet  are  on  a  level  with  the  church  and 
its  thirty  flying  buttresses,  and  the  town  with  its  thirty  churches. 


94         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  He  sees  the  stone  gargoyles  belching  forth  the  water  from  the 
slate  roof  into  the  mazy  abyss  of  galleries,  windows,  crotchets, 
pinnacles,  turrets,  roofs,  scaffoldings,  among  which  the  jagged 
motionless  wing  of  a  hawk  makes  a  grey  spot. 

4  He  sees  the  fortifications  cut  out  in  the  form  of  a  star,  the  citadel 
puffed  out  like  a  chicken  in  a  pie,  the  courtyards  of  the  palaces 
where  the  sun  dries  up  the  fountains,  and  the  cloisters  in  the 
monasteries  where  the  shadows  circle  round  the  pillars. 

*  The  imperial  troops  have  their  lodging  in  the  suburb.  Yonder 
is  a  trooper  playing  the  kettledrum.  Abraham  Knupfer  can  make 
out  his  three-cornered  hat,  his  red  woollen  shoulder-knots,  his 
cockade,  and  his  pigtail  tied  with  ribbon. 

1  What  he  sees  besides  is  the  soldiers  in  the  park  with  its  plumes 
of  great  boughs.  On  a  broad  emerald-green  lawn  they  riddle  with 
bullets  from  their  arquebuses  a  wooden  bird  fixed  at  the  end  of  a 
pole. 

'  And  that  evening,  while  the  harmonious  cathedral  nave  slept — its 
arms  spread  out  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  from  his  ladder  he  saw  on 
the  horizon  a  village  which  the  troopers  had  set  on  fire  flaming  like 
a  comet  in  the  azure.' 

Sainte-Beuve  well  called  this  the  daguerreotype  in 
literature.  Victor  Pavie  remarked  in  Bertrand  his 
'  patient  touch  counting  the  leaves  in  the  infinite.' 

This  is  just  what  the  English  pre-Raphaelites  were  to  do 
later  on  in  their  reaction  against  Dr.  Johnson's  dictum 
(so  admirably  expressive  of  the  eighteenth-century  temper 
in  these  matters),  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  paint  the 
streaks  of  the  tulip. 

One  of  the  finest,  if  not  the  very  finest  example  of 
Bertrand's  picturesque  style,  is  that  called  '  Le  Soir  sur 
1'Eau.' 

*  Bords  ou  Venise  est  reine  de  la  mer.' 

'  The  black  gondola  glided  past  the  marble  palaces  like  a  bravo  in 
search  of  adventure  hiding  a  stiletto  and  a  lantern  under  his 
cloak. 

4  In  it  a  cavalier  and  a  lady  talked  of  love. 

'  "  So  heavy  scented  are  the  orange- trees,  so  indifferent  are  you. 
Ah,  signorina,  you  are  a  statue  in  a  garden." 


PREDECESSORS  95 

'  "  Is  this  kiss  the  kiss  of  a  statue,  my  Georgio— why  so  sullen  ? 
You  love  me  then  ?  " 

'  "  Not  a  star  in  heaven  but  knows  it,  and  thou  knowest  it  not  ?  " 

'What  is  that  sound?  Tis  nothing— only  the  plashing  of  the 
water  as  it  goes  up  and  down  a  step  of  the  Giudecca  staircase. 

'  Help  !  help  !     Ah — mother  of  God  !     Some  one  drowning  ! 

'  "  Stand  aside,  he  is  shriven  ! "  cried  a  monk  who  appeared  upon 
the  terrace. 

'  And  the  black  gondola  putting  off  at  full  speed  glided  past  the 
marble  palace  like  a  bravo  returning  from  a  night  adventure,  a 
stiletto  and  a  lantern  under  his  cloak.' 

We  are  reminded  at  once  of  Browning's  *  In  a  Gondola,' 
and  the  fact  that  he  suggests  this  comparison  is  of  itself 
a  feather  in  Bertrand's  cap.  But  the  prose  poem  of 
Bertrand  is  unforgettable  in  its  compressed  vigour — there 
is  not  one  word  too  much  ;  whereas  Browning  has 
wandered  into  superfluous  details,  his  poem  is  six  times 
as  long  as  Bertrand's  sketch,  and  though  interesting  loses 
correspondingly  in  dramatic  effect. 

And  here  again  we  see  Bertrand's  gift  of  '  presenting ' 
historical  atmosphere.  He  makes  us  realise  eighteenth- 
century  Venice  with  its  epicurean  life,  the  gallantry  of  the 
Lido,  the  perpetual  revelry  leading  sometimes  to  crime, 
as  in  the  drama  he  has  so  powerfully  painted  here.  '  Le 
Soir  sur  1'Eau  '  is  indeed  a  masterpiece. 

We  have  already  touched  on  Bertrand's  imagination, 
his  preference  for  weird  subjects — the  gloom  attracts  him 
far  more  than  the  sunshine  ;  he  '  preferred  a  Breughel 
to  a  Watteau,  an  Albert  Diirer  to  a  Delacroix,  an  etching 
of  Rembrandt  or  Callot  to  all  the  sketches  of  Charlet,  and 
all  the  vignettes  of  Tony  Johannot.' 

And,  as  we  have  said,  in  his  youth  drawing  was  one 
of  his  favourite  pastimes.  There  exists  in  the  library  of 
Angers  (B.  1443,  K.  453)  a  small  book  of  sketches  made 
by  Bertrand  to  illustrate  Gaspard  de  la  Nuit.1  This  book, 

1  We  are  indebted  to  the  librarian  of  Angers  for  his  courtesy  in  showing  us 
these  drawings. 


96         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

which  was  given  to  the  library  of  Angers  by  Madame 
Leferme,  the  daughter  of  David  d'Angers,  contains  seven- 
teen sketches  which  come  as  a  commentary  on  Bertrand's 
imagination.  Three  of  these,  probably  meant  to  go  with 
the  fantasy  '  Clair  de  Lime,'  represent  a  hanged  corpse 
with  the  moon  for  background.  In  the  first,  there  is  a  bell 
of  which  the  hanged  corpse  forms  the  clapper,  and  behind 
is  the  jovial  face  of  the  moon.  In  the  next  there  is  no 
bell,  the  corpse  is  hanging  from  a  balcony,  and  in  the 
distance  are  seen  a  church  steeple  and  some  chimneys. 
In  the  next,  again,  we  have  the  hanged  corpse  with  the 
moon  as  background.  Here  is  the  prose  poem  '  Clair  de 

Lune' : — 

'  Reveillez-vous  gens  qui  dormez, 
Et  priez  pour  les  trepasses.' 

1  Oh !  how  sweet  it  is  when  the  hour  trembles  in  the  belfry  at  night 
to  gaze  at  the  moon  whose  nose  is  fashioned  like  a  golden  carolus  ! 

'  Two  lepers  made  plaint  under  my  window,  a  dog  howled  in  the 
road,  and  the  cricket  on  my  hearth  chirped  ever  so  softly. 

'  But  soon  my  ear  made  its  questionings  in  profound  silence.  The 
lepers  had  gone  back  to  their  hovels  at  the  strokes  of  Jacquemart 
beating  his  wife, 

'  The  dog  had  fled  up  a  narrow  lane  at  the  approach  of  the  halberds 
of  the  watch  wheezing  under  the  rain,  and  frozen  in  the  blast. 

'  And  the  cricket  had  fallen  asleep  as  the  last  cinder  quenched  its 
last  gleam  in  the  ashes  in  the  fireplace. 

'And  to  me  it  seemed, — so  incoherent  is  fever, — that  the  moon 
screwing  up  her  face  put  her  tongue  out  at  me  like  a  hanged  corpse.' 

Bertrand  never  quite  lost  his  youthful  predilection  for 
hanged  corpses — they  are  as  ubiquitous  as  the  skull  in 
Albert  Dlirer  whom  he  admired  so  much. 

'  Le  Cheval  Mort '  is  another  good  example  of  this  side 
of  his  imagination  : — 

'  The  knacker's  yard — and  on  the  left  on  a  clovered  lucern  lawn,  a 
cemetery  with  its  gravestones;  on  the  right  a  gallows  like  a  one- 
armed  man  asking  alms  of  the  passers  by. 

'  The  wolves  have  torn  the  flesh  round  the  neck  of  that  horse  who 


PREDECESSORS  97 

was  killed  yesterday  into  such  long  cords  that  he  still  seems  only 
decorated  for  the  cavalcade  with  a  cluster  of  red  ribbons. 

'Each  night  as  soon  as  the  moon  comes  to  make  wan  the  skies, 
the  corpse  flies  away,  mounted  by  a  witch  who  spurs  him  on  with 
the  sharp  bone  of  her  heel,  while  the  wind  plays  airs  upon  the  organ 
pipes  in  his  cavernous  flanks. 

'  And  if  in  this  silent  hour  some  sleepless  eye  were  open  in  a  grave 
in  the  garden  of  sleep,  it  would  quickly  close,  fearful  of  seeing  a 
spectre  among  the  stars. 

*  And  now  the  moon,1  shutting  one  eye,  only  shines  with  the  other 
to  light  up,  like  a  floating  candle,  this  thin  wastrel  of  a  dog  lapping 
water  from  a  pond.' 

The  same  favourite  idea  recurs  in  '  LeGibet,'  especially 
the  last  paragraph  :  '  C'est  la  cloche  qui  tinte  aux  murs 
d'une  ville  sous  1'horizon,  et  la  carcasse  d'un  pendu  que 
rougit  le  soleil  couchant.' 

Yet  another  good  specimen  of  this  macabre  kind  is 
'  Scarbo  ' : — 

'  Oh !  how  many  times  have  I  heard  and  seen  Scarbo  when  at 
midnight  the  moon  shines  like  a  shield  argent  on  an  azure  banner 
strewn  with  golden  bees. 

'  How  many  times  have  I  heard  his  chuckle  buzzing  in  the  shadow 
of  my  alcove,  and  his  nail  grate  over  the  silken  curtains  of  my  bed. 

*  How  many  times  have  I  seen  him  come  down  from  the  ceiling, 
pirouette  on  one  toe  and  roll  across  the  room  like  the  spindle  fallen 
off  a  witch's  distaff. 

1  Did  I  think  he  disappeared  then  ?  The  dwarf  grew  tall  between 
the  moon  and  me  as  the  steeple  of  a  Gothic  cathedral,  a  golden  bell 
shaking  at  the  tip  of  his  pointed  cap  ! 

1  It  will  have  been  noticed  that  Bertrand  had  a  great  affection  for  the  moon. 
He  has  many  fancies  on  this  subject :  *  La  lune  peignait  ses  cheveux  avec  un 
demeloir  d'ebene  qui  argentait  d'une  pluie  de  vers  luisants  les  collines,  les  pres 
et  les  bois.'  '  La  lune  qui  a  le  nezfait  comme  un  carolus  d'or.'  '  La  lune  brille 
dans  le  ciel  comme  un  ecu  d'argent  sur  une  banniere  d'azur  semee  d'abeilles  d'or.' 

He  also  represented  his  guardian  angel  keeping  off  with  a  peacock's  feather 
the  spirits  who  would  fain  have  stolen  his  soul  :  '  Pour  la  noyer  dans  un  rayon 
de  la  lune  ou  dans  une  goutte  de  rosee.' 

One  of  the  finest  of  Baudelaire's  Potmes  en  Prose  is  the  '  Bienfaits  de  la  Lune,' 
which  was  probably  suggested  by  this  feature  in  Bertrand. 

G 


98         THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  But  soon  his  body  grew  blue  and  diaphanous  as  candle  wax,  his 
face  wan  as  a  snuffed  candle,  and  suddenly  he  went  out.' 

There  is  another  '  Scarbo '  in  that  part  of  the  Fan- 
taisies  entitled  '  La  Nuit  et  ses  prestiges,'  which  is  very 
Poesque : — 

* "  Whether  thou  die  absolved  or  damned,"  muttered  Scarbo  in 
mine  ear  last  night,  "  for  shroud  thou  shalt  have  a  spider's  web,  and 
I  will  bury  the  spider  with  thee." 

*  My  eyes  red  with  weeping,  I  answered  him :  "  At  least  give  me  for 
shroud  a  leaf  of  the  aspen,  that  I  may  be  therein  rocked  by  the 
lake's  breath." 

' "  No,"  sneered  the  mocking  dwarf,  "  thou  shalt  be  the  food  of  the 
horn-beetle  who  hunts  by  night,  of  the  flies  blinded  by  the  setting 
sun." 

' "  Dost  thou  prefer,"  I  cried  tearfully,  "dost  thou  then  prefer  that 
my  blood  should  be  sucked  by  a  tarantula  with  the  trunk  of  an 
elephant  ?  " 

'"Well,"  said  he,  "be  consoled,  thou  shalt  have  for  shroud  the 
gold  spotted  winding-sheet  of  a  serpent's  skin,  and  I  will  swathe 
thee  therein  like  a  mummy.  .  .  ." ' 

The  last  drawing  in  the  book  to  which  we  have  referred 
seems  to  illustrate  this.  It  represents  a  bed  on  which  a 
man  is  lying  swathed  in  bands  like  a  mummy  ;  the  drawing 
of  the  man  is  made  separately,  then  cut  out  and  pasted 
on  the  bed. 

It  was  not  only  in  his  sleep  that  Bertrand  was  haunted 
by  such  curious  fancies  as  he  describes  in  Un  Reve  ; 
another  equally  weird  is  that  which  he  puts  under  the 
Flemish  school,  Depart  pour  le  Sabbat. 

Here  is  the  dream  : — 

'  It  was  night,  there  were  first, — so  did  I  see,  so  do  I  tell, — an 
abbey  with  walls  creviced  by  the  moon,  a  forest  pierced  by  winding 
paths  and  Morimont 1  swarming  with  cloaks  and  hats. 

'Next  there  were, — as  I  heard  so  do  I  tell, — the  funeral  tolling  of 
a  bell  answered  by  sobs  from  a  cell, — plaintive  cries  and  fierce 
laughter  which  made  every  leaf  on  the  boughs  quiver,  and  the  low 

1  Morimont  was  the  square  in  Dijon  where  executions  took  place. 


PREDECESSORS  99 

hum  of  the  black  penitent's  prayers,  as  they  accompanied  a  criminal 
to  execution. 

'Lastly, — so  did  the  dream  end,  and  so  do  I  tell  it, — a  monk 
expiring  on  a  bed  of  ashes  used  for  the  dying,  a  maiden  hanged 
from  the  branches  of  an  oak,  and  who  struggled,  and  I  dishevelled, 
whom  the  executioner  bound  on  to  the  spokes  of  a  wheel.' 

The  fifteenth  drawing  in  Bertrand's  book  represents 
the  forest  of  the  first  paragraph — a  very  black  drawing 
(Ecole  Flamande) — Depart  pour  le  Sabbat. 

'  A  dozen  of  them  were  there  taking  their  soupe  a  la  btire,  and 
each  had  for  spoon  a  skeleton  forearm. 

'  The  hearth  was  red  with  glowing  cinders,  the  candles  guttered 
in  the  smoke,  and  from  the  plates  rose  an  odour  of  graves  at 
springtime. 

'  And  when  Maribas  laughed  or  wept  it  was  like  a  bow  groaning 
upon  the  three  strings  of  a  dislocated  violin. 

''But  the  trooper  opened  out  upon  the  table  by  the  candle  light  a 
book  of  magic  whereon  a  singed  fly  made  antics. 

*  This  fly  was  still  buzzing  when  a  spider  with  great  hairy  belly 
climbed  over  the  edge  of  the  magic  volume. 

'  But  already  wizards  and  witches  had  flown  up  the  chimney  all 
riding  astride,  some  on  the  broom,  some  on  the  tongs,  and  Maribas 
on  the  frying-pan  handle.' 

So  much  then  for  the  macabre.  There  is  yet  another 
side  to  Bertrand's  talent — that  of  painting  Nature.  In  the 
Introduction  he  says  : — 

1  That  part  of  art  which  is  feeling  was  my  painful  conquest  .  .  . 
but  that  part  of  art  which  is  idea  still  lured  my  curiosity.  I  thought 
I  should  find  the  complement  of  art  in  nature.  Therefore  I  studied 
nature.' 

Not  only  he  studied  Nature — he  loved  her,  and  his  love 
shows  itself  from  time  to  time  in  his  work  with  charming 
effect,  <  Who  does  not  love  ? ' 

'Qui  n'aime?'  he  asks  at  the  opening  of  his  Marquis 
cFAvoca. 


ioo       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

1  Qui  n'aime,  aux  jours  de  la  canicule,  dans  les  bois,  lorsque  les 
gens  criards  se  disputent  la  ramee  et  1'ombre,  un  lit  de  mousse  et 
la  feuille  a  1'envers  du  chene  ? ' 

Chevremorte  too  is  full  of  his  feeling  for  Nature  : — 

*  No  balm  at  morn  after  the  rain,  nor  at  eve  at  dew  time,  nothing 
to  charm  the  ear  but  the  cry  of  a  little  bird  in  search  of  a  blade  of 
grass. 

'  Desert  that  no  longer  hears  the  voice  of  John  the  Baptist !  Desert 
where  no  longer  dwell  the  hermit  and  the  dove. 

'Even  so  is  my  soul  a  waste,  where  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss,  one 
hand  stretched  out  towards  life,  and  the  other  towards  death,  I  utter 
a  despairing  sob.  The  poet  is  like  the  wallflower  which  takes  root 
in  the  granite,  and  asks  not  so  much  for  soil  as  for  sun.  But,  alas, 
there  is  no  more  sun  for  me  since  the  closing  of  those  sweet  eyes 
that  fed  my  genius.' 

This  is  Romantic  too— just  as  is  the  voluntary  melan- 
choly of  Encore  un  printemps. 

'Another  spring,  another  drop  of  dew  cradled  for  a  moment  in 
this  bitter  calyx,  to  escape  from  it  like  a  tear. 

'O  my  youth  !  thy  joys  were  frozen  by  the  kisses  of  Time,  but 
thy  sorrows  have  out-lived  Time  whom  they  smothered  in  their 
bosom. 

'  And  you  who  wove  the  silken  skein  of  my  life,  O  women  !  if  in 
my  romance  some  one  acted  as  deceiver  it  was  not  I — if  there  have 
been  some  deceived,  it  was  not  you. 

'  O  Spring,  thou  little  bird  of  passage,  singing  sadly  in  the  poet's 
heart  and  the  oak's  foliage. 

'Another  spring — another  ray  of  May  sunshine,  in  the  world  on 
the  poet's  brow,  in  the  woods  on  the  old  oak.' 

Another  vivid  picture  is  that  of  the  storm  in  La  Ronde 
sous  la  Cloche. 

'  Suddenly  the  thunder  growled  on  the  top  of  Saint  John's.  The 
enchanters  vanished,  struck  to  death,  and  from  afar  I  saw  their 
books  of  magic  burning  like  a  torch  in  the  black  belfry. 

'This  terrible  light  painted  the  walls  of  the  Gothic  church  with  the 


PREDECESSORS  101 

red  flames  of  purgatory  and  hell,  and  threw  along  the  neighbouring 
houses  the  shadow  of  the  gigantic  statue  of  Saint  John. 

'The  weathercocks  grew  rust-laden ;  the  moon  melted  the  pearl 
grey  clouds,  the  rain  only  fell  drop  by  drop  from  the  roof-edges,  and 
the  breeze,  throwing  open  my  insecurely  fastened  window,  flung  over 
my  pillow  the  jasmine  flowers  shaken  down  by  the  storm.' 

Sainte-Beuve  in  his  criticism  of  Bertrand  quotes  an 
unpublished  fragment  which  is  a  very  lively  picture  of 
the  life  in  a  farm  near  Dijon,  where  Bertrand  took  refuge 
from  a  storm  one  night. 

'  Quelles  honnetes  figures  dans  ces  rayons  de  toile  cou- 
leur  de  terre.  Ah  !  la  paix  et  le  bonheur  ne  sont  qu'aux 
champs ! '  he  exclaims.  Sainte-Beuve  compares  this 
fragment  to  Burns's  *  Cottar's  Saturday  Night,' and  this 
leads  us  to  an  interesting  point.  We  are  accustomed  to 
go  to  poets  like  Burns,  or  Cowper,  or  Gilpin  when  we 
are  a  little  tired  of  the  demands  made  on  our  imagination 
by  the  more  exciting  romantic  poets,  and  turn  for  relief  to 
simple  yet  lively  quiet,  peaceful  pictures.  But  to  find  the 
two  opposed  tempers  in  one  and  the  same  poet,  and  that 
a  poet  of  the  French  Romantic  era,  is  indeed  a  striking 
thing.  Bertrand  half  apologises  for  his  sketch  by  com- 
paring it  with  a  Rembrandt  picture  ;  but  the  quiet  temper 
is  there,  explain  it  away  as  he  will. 

In  spite  of  the  originality  of  this  side  of  his  work,  it  is 
probably  by  the  other,  the  macabre  and  picturesque  side, 
that  Bertrand  will  be  remembered,  if  remembered  he  is. 
Fame  did  not  come  to  him  in  his  lifetime,  and  so  far  he 
has  escaped  his  share  of  posthumous  glory.  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  Hoffmann  in  Bertrand.  It  lay  outside  the 
scope  of  this  study  to  consider  the  debt  of  Poe  to 
Hoffmann.  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  said  well  of  them,  that 
they  were  '  les  deux  Chinois  du  meme  opium,'  and  there 
is  much  Poe  in  Baudelaire.  So  would  we  justify  Ber~ 
trand's  place  in  the  category  of  Baudelairians. 


102       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


IV 
PETRUS   BOREL 

PETRUS  BOREL  is  one  of  Baudelaire's  predecessors  who 
deserves  to  be  very  much  better  known  than  he  is  ;  he  is 
more  forgotten  than  Bertrand,  for  hitherto  his  work  has 
not  been  reprinted  and  reissued  in  accessible  form. 

The  first  and  perhaps  greatest  of  the  race  of  eccentrics 
who  appear  with  the  Romantic  School  was  born  at  Lyons 
in  1809 — one  of  an  extremely  poor  family  of  fourteen 
children.  He  was  brought  up  to  be  an  architect  and 
came  to  Paris  to  complete  his  studies,  but  he  soon  tired 
of  architecture,  and  after  trying  his  hand  at  painting  in 
the  studio  of  Eugene  Deveria,  turned  to  literature.  He 
was  the  star  of  the  l  Petit  Cenacle '  which  Theophile 
Gautier  has  portrayed  so  well  for  us  in  his  Histoire  du 
Romantisme,  a  cenacle  which  included  Theophile  Gautier 
himself,  Gerard  de  Nerval,  Augustus  MacKeat,1  Philothee 
O'Neddy,2  Jules  Vabre.  An  important  factor  in  Borel's 
ascendancy  here  seems  to  have  been  his  startlingly 
picturesque  appearance.  Gautier  called  him  'the  most 
perfect  specimen  of  the  romantic  ideal.' 

M.  Claretie  (who  is  the  authority  on  Borel)  has 
described  his  appearance  for  us.  He  wore 

(a  waistcoat  a  la  Robespierre,  on  his  head  the  conventional 
pointed  hat  with  its  large  buckle,  his  hair  short  a  la  Titus,  a  long 
untouched  beard — and  that  at  a  moment  when  no  one  wore  it  so — 
superb  eyes,  magnificent  teeth,  as  handsome  as  Alphonse  Rabbe, 
that  other  revoltl  vi\\.Q  was  called  the  Antinous  of  Aix.' 


1  i.e.  Maquet.  2  Theophile  Dondey. 


PREDECESSORS  103 

It  was  this  appearance,  so  the  story  goes,  which 
frightened  the  inhabitants  of  Ecouny  when  Borel  and 
a  friend,  got  up  in  the  same  manner,  passed  through. 
They  were  followed,  arrested,  and  imprisoned  for  a  few 
days  while  the  necessary  inquiries  were  made.  In  1832 
Borel  was  again  arrested  by  the  police. 

'  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? '  he  asked.  <  What 
have  I  done  to  be  arrested  ? ' 

1  Sir,'  was  the  reply,  '  pretence  is  useless — vous  avez  la 
demarche  republicaine  ! ' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Borel  called  himself  a  republican — 
but  a  *  lycanthrope '  republican — that  is  his  originality. 

1  Yes,  I  am  a  republican,  but  it  was  not  the  July  sun  that  brought 
forth  this  lofty  thought  in  me.  I  was  a  republican  from  my  child- 
hood, but  not  republican  in  the  sense  in  which  the  lynx  would 
understand  it ;  my  republicanism  is  lycanthropy.  ...  If  I  talk  of 
Republic  it  is  because  this  word  represents  for  me  the  greatest 
independence  civilisation  and  association  can  allow  us.' 

Here  is  the  Baudelairian  enemy  of  progress. 

Borel's  first  writings  were  some  poems  which,  con- 
sidering the  period  in  which  he  was  writing,  are,  of 
course,  deeply  pessimistic  ;  but  here  again  he  is  original, 
the  despondent  note  rings  true,  he  was  at  all  events 
sincere. 

*  Comme  une  louve  ayant  fait  chasse  vaine, 
Gringant  les  dents,  s'en  va  par  le  chemin, 
Je  vais,  hagard  tout  charge  de  ma  peine, 
Seul  avec  moi,  nulle  main  dans  ma  main, 
Pas  une  voix  qui  me  disc — A  demain  !  .  .  . 

Ma  jeunesse  me  pese  et  devient  importune. 
Ah  !  que  n'ai-je  du  moins  le  calme  du  vieillard  ? 
Qu'ai-je  k  faire  ici  has  ?  trainer  dans  1'infortune  ! 
Lache,  rompons  nos  fers  !  .  .  .  ou  plus  tot  ou  plus  tard. 
Mes  pistolets  sont  Ik — dtjouons  le  hasard? 

Or  the  rebellious  pessimism  of  *  Doleance '  : — 


104       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

*  Autour  de  moi  ce  n'est  que  palais,  joie  immonde, 

Biens,  somptueuses  nuits, 
Avenir,  gloire,  honneurs  :  au  milieu  de  ce  monde, 

Pauvre  et  souffrant  je  suis 
Comme  entoure  des  grands,  du  roi  de  saint  office, 

Sur  le  quemadero, 
Tous  en  pourpre  assembles  pour  humer  un  supplice, 

Un  juif  au  brazero. 

Car  tout  m'accable  enfin,  neant,  misere,  envie 

Vont  morcelant  mes  jours  ; 
Mes  amours  brochaient  d'or  le  crepe  de  ma  vie. 

Desormais  plus  d'amours  ! ' 

He  comes  back  to  this  idea  in  his  Testament  when  he 
writes  : — 

'  Chanter  1'amour !  .  .  .  pour  moi  Tamour  c'est  de  la  haine,  des 
gemissements,  des  cris,  de  la  honte,  du  deuil,  du  fer,  des  larmes, 
du  sang,  des  cadavres,  des  ossements,  des  remords — je  n'en  ai  pas 
connu  d'autre.' 

And  here  are  some  striking  lines  from  '  L'Hymne  au 
Soleil '  :- 

4  La  dans  ce  sentier  creux,  promenoir  solitaire 

De  mon  clandestin  mal, 
Je  viens  tout  souffreteux  et  je  me  couche  a  terre, 

Comme  un  brute  animal. 
Je  viens  avouer  ma  faim,  la  tete  sur  la  pierre, 

Appeler  le  sommeil ; 
Pour  etancher  un  peu  ma  brulante  paupiere 

Je  vais  user  mon  dcot  de  soleil. 

Lk-bas  dans  la  cite',  1'avarice  sordide 

Des  chefs  sur  tout  rempart 
Au  mouton  peuple  vend  le  soleil  et  le  vide. 

J'ai  paye,  j'ai  ma  part. 

Mais  sur  tous,  tous  egaux  devant  toi,  soleil  juste, 

Tu  verses  tes  rayons, 
Qui  ne  sont  pas  plus  doux  au  front  d'un  sire  auguste, 

Qu'au  sale  front  d'une  gueuse  en  haillons.' 

And  here  again  is  a  poignant  accent  of  sincerity  : — 


PREDECESSORS  105 

HEUR  ET  MALHEUR. 

*  J'ai  caresse  la  mort  riant  au  suicide, 
Souvent  et  volontiers  quand  j'etais  plus  heureux  ; 
Maintenant  je  la  hais  et  d'elle  suis  peureux, 
Miserable  et  mime  par  la  faim  homicide. 
C'est  un  oiseau,  le  barde  :  il  doit  rester  sauvage  ; 
La  nuit  sous  la  ramure,  il  gazouille  son  chant ; 
Le  canard  tout  boueux  se  pavane  au  rivage, 
Saluant  tout  soleil,  ou  levant  ou  couchant. 
C'est  un  oiseau,  le  barde  !  il  doit  vieillir  austere, 
Sob  re,  pauvre,  ignore,  farouche,  soucieux, 
Ne  chanter  pour  aucun  et  n'avoir  rien  sur  terre 
Qu'une  cape  trouee,  un  poignard  et  les  cieux  ! 
Mais  le  barde  aujourd'hui,  c'est  une  voix  de  femme, 
Un  habit  bien  collant,  un  minois  relave, 
Un  perroquet  juche,  chantonnant  pour  madame, 
Dans  une  cage  d'or  un  canari  prive. 
C'est  un  gras  merveilleux  versant  de  chaudes  larmes, 
Sur  des  maux  obliges  apres  un  long  repas, 
Portant  un  parapluie  et  jurant  par  ses  armes 
Et  Pelixir  en  main,  invoquant  le  trepas. 
Joyaux,  bal,  fleur,  cheval,  chateau,  fine  maitresse, 
Sont  les  mate'riaux  de  ses  poemes  lourds  : 
Rien  pour  la  pauvrete,  rien  pour  Phumble  en  detresse.' 

This  is  already  highly  original  in  the  full  swing  of  the 
Romantic  movement. 

In  the  verse  Preface  to  his  novel  Madame  Putiphar, 
Borel  was  to  make  a  new  departure  with  his  symbolic 
figures  of  the  World,  Solitude,  and  Death.  The  concep- 
tion is  Baudelairian  ;  it  was  used  over  and  over  again 
while  its  originator  was  forgotten.  We  quote  part  of 
this  Preface : — 

'  Une  douleur  renait  pour  une  evanouie 
Quand  un  chagrin  s'eteint  c'est  qu'un  autre  est  eclos  ; 
La  vie  est  une  ronce  aux  pleurs  epanouie.  .  .  . 
Dans  ma  poitrine  sombre  ainsi  qu'en  un  champ  clos, 
Trois  braves  cavaliers  se  heurtent  sans  relache. 

Le  premier  cavalier  est  jeune,  frais,  alerte, 

II  porte  elegamment  un  corselet  d'acier, 

Scintillant  a  travers  une  resille  verte, 

Comme  a  travers  les  pins  les  crystaux  d'un  glacier. 


io6       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Le  second  chevalier,  ainsi  qu'un  reliquaire, 
Est  juchd  gravement  sur  le  dos  d'un  mulct 
Qui  ferait  le  bonheur  d'un  gothique  antiquaire. 

II  est  gros,  gras,  poussif ;  son  aride  monture 
Sous  lui  semble  craquer  et  pencher  en  aval : 
Une  vraie  antithese — une  caricature 
De  careme-prenant  promenant  carnaval ! 
II  est  tache  de  sang  et  baise  un  crucifix.  .  .  . 

Pour  le  tiers  cavalier,  c'est  un  homme  de  pierre 
Semblant  le  Commandeur,  horrible  et  tenebreux 
Un  hyperboreen  ;  un  gnome  sans  paupiere, 
Sans  prunelle  et  sans  front,  qui  resonne  le  creux, 
Comme  un  tombeau  vide  lorsqu'une  arme  le  frappe.' 

The  first  cavalier  is  the  World,  the  second  is  Solitude, 
the  last  is  Death, pand  the  conclusion  of  the  Preface  is  that 

'  II  n'est  de  bonheur  vrai,  de  repos  qu'en  la  fosse  ; 
Sur  la  terre  on  est  mal,  sous  la  terre  on  est  bien.' 

The  most  considerable  part  of  Borel's  work  is,  however, 
not  his  poems,  but  his  prose — his  Contes  Immoraux  (1833) 
and  the  long  novel  Madame  Putiphar  (1839). 

The  first  of  the  Contes  Immoraux,  '  Monsieur  de  1'Argen- 
terie  1'Accusateur,'  is  characteristic  —  a  great  deal  of 
sensation  and  not  very  much  art.  It  is  the  story  of  a 
woman  who  is  condemned  to  death  by  the  very  man  who 
has  been  the  cause  of  her  undoing.  The  description  of 
the  execution  in  the  rain,  with  the  crowd  who  have  come 
to  look  on,  the  Englishman  who  has  paid  five  hundred 
francs  for  a  window,  the  women  who  call  out  'a  bas  les 
parapluies,  on  ne  voit  pas — soyez  galants,  messieurs, 
on  ne  voit  pas ! '  in  its  thoroughly  Baudelairian  temper, 
reminds  us  of  that  tale  of  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam — Le 
convive  des  dernier es  fetes : 

The  second  story  '  Jacquez  Barraou  '  is  a  very  romantic 
study  of  jealousy.  Jacquez  Barraou  is  mistakenly 
jealous  of  his  wife  on  account  of  a  certain  Juan  Cazador 


PREDECESSORS  107 

(Borel's  heroes  always  have  magnificent  names).  By 
feigning  drunkenness  he  is  able  to  discover  the  perfidy  of 
Cazador.  The  result  is  a  duel,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
Angelus  rings,  whereupon  the  two  antagonists  fall  on 
their  knees  and  each  prays  for  the  other's  soul.  That 
process  finished  they  turn  back  to  their  duel  to  the  death. 
In  this  tale,  too,  Borel  shows  that  for  him  also  the 
romantic  exotism  has  its  attraction.  This  is  the  description 
of  Barraou's  wife  : — 

'  Oh  !  how  beautiful  she  seemed  !  She  was  slim,  gay,  laughing  ; 
her  complexion  that  which  comes  of  mixed  races,  and  which  you 
contemptuously  call  mulatto  ;  her  features  were  delicate  with  the 
profile  of  an  Artesian  woman  ;  her  bright  eyes  were  almond  shaped. 
Around  her  head  she  had  gracefully  bound  a  muslin  turban ;  coral 
earrings  swung  from  her  ears ;  a  necklace  of  Venetian  ramina  made 
a  golden  base  to  the  graceful  sweep  of  her  beautiful  neck;  her 
tapering  fingers  were  imprisoned  in  costly  rings.' 

This  exotic  taste  is  to  be  found  again  in  an  article  Borel 
wrote  on  Algeria  (1845) — for  him  all  good  things  come 
from  the  East.  (In  passing  one  may  remark  that 
Flaubert  seems  to  have  held  a  similar  idea  :  not  only 
are  the  subjects  of  the  Tentation  de  St.  Antoine,  Salammbo, 
Herodias  oriental,  but  contain  profound  psychology  of 
the  Eastern  peoples,  and  wonderful  splendour  of  Oriental 
description).  Here  are  Borel's  words  : — 

1  All  dreams,  all  religion,  all  philosophy,  are  known  to  come  to  us 
from  the  East.  The  Asiatics  of  India  are  the  only  men  on  earth 
who  have  dreamed  and  imagined.  We  sons  of  the  West  and  North 
have  never  had  other  goods  than  actuality  and  speed,  and  more  so 
to-day  than  ever,  and  we  think  our  task  well  fulfilled  when  our  feet 
and  not  our  brains  have  moved  and  performed  their  functions  for 
twenty-four  hours. 

'Certainly  you  could  travel  throughout  France  without  finding — 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  quite  young  pastoral  poets  looked  on 
askance  by  their  families — a  single  man  seated  in  the  shade  of  an 
elm  to  watch  the  scintillations  of  Venus  or  Canopa,  or  counting  the 


io8       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

fibres  of  the  lotus-flower  like  a  Hindu,  or  drinking  in  the  perfumes 
of  the  amra.' 

He  carries  his  enthusiasm  to  the  point  of  believing  that 
the  French  settlement  in  Africa  will  have  a  great  salutary 
influence  on  French  literature  : — 

*  There  is  perhaps  no  thought,  no  idea  on  earth,  but  of  which  the 
germ  is  to  be  found  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges.  It  is  to  Asia  that 
the  whole  of  our  romance  of  the  seven  sages  belongs ;  she  it  was  who 
modified  our  romances  of  chivalry.  .\  .  And  such  is  the  strength, 
the  potentiality  of  Asiatic  and  African  conception,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  approach  our  poor  black  slaves  without  becoming 
impregnated  with  caprice,  without  thawing  the  ice  of  our  cool 
reason,  and  of  our  minds  wise  and  prudent  even  to  stiffness.' 

In  his  *  Dina '  Borel  created  quite  a  Baudelairian  figure — 
we  should  not  be  surprised  to  meet  her  in  a  novel  of 
Huysmans'. 

'  Rendered  depraved  by  pain  she  sought  with  eagerness  anything 
that  might  awaken  her  apathy ;  she  loaded  herself  with  the  most 
heavy-scented  flowers,  surrounded  herself  with  vases  filled  with 
syringa,  jasmine,  vervein,  roses,  lilies,  and  tuberoses;  she  burnt 
incense  of  benzoin;  she  scattered  round  her  amber,  cinnamon,  storax, 
musk.  .  .  .' 

We  can  imagine  the  approval  with  which  Baudelaire 
would  have  heard  this. 

The  most  romantic,  the  most  exaggerated  and  the  most 
entertaining  of  the  tales  is  '  Passereau  1'Ecolier.' 

Passereau  believing  himself  to  be  deceived  by  his 
mistress,  Philogene,  wishes  to  be  finished  with  life.  So  he 
goes  off  to  the  public  executioner  and  explains  : — 

'  I  have  come  to  ask  a  service  of  you.  I  have  come  to  beg  you 
very  humbly  (I  should  be  very  grateful  for  this  favour)  to  do  me  the 
honour,  and  the  friendly  act  of  guillotining  me  ! ' 

The  executioner  explains  his  inability  to  render  this 
service  to  persons  other  than  those  who  have  committed 
a  crime.  Passereau  comes  away  determined  to  commit 


PREDECESSORS  109 

the  necessary  crime.  On  arriving  home  he  draws  up  a  letter 
to  the  Government  suggesting  a  tax  on  would-be  suicides, 
and  then  makes  an  appointment  with  Philogene.  They 
go  for  a  walk  in  a  deserted  part  of  Paris,  and  Passereau 
begins  to  feel  ill.  Philogene  begs  him  to  return  home, 
and  Passereau  then  asks  her  to  go  to  the  fruit-trees  at  the 
end  of  a  long  dark  alley  where  they  are,  and  bring  him 
fruit  to  quench  his  thirst.  We  give  the  denouement  in 
Borel's  own  words  :— 

'  Philogene  had  only  taken  a  few  steps  when  she  disappeared  in 
the  darkness.  Passereau  stretched  himself  full  length  on  the  ground, 
putting  his  ear  to  the  earth  and  listened  in  terrible  anxiety. 

'Suddenly  Philogene  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  a  dull  thud  was 
heard  like  that  of  a  human  body  falling,  a  great  splashing  of 
disturbed  water,  and  groans  which  seemed  to  come  from  under- 
ground. Then  Passereau  got  up  with  demoniacal  convulsions,  and 
hastened  as  fast  as  he  could  along  the  path  by  the  raspberry  bushes. 
As  he  approached  the  cries  became  more  and  more  distinct  "  Help  ! 
Help!"  Suddenly  he  stopped,  knelt  down,  and  leant  on  a  level  with 
the  ground  over  a  large  well. 

'  Right  at  the  bottom  the  water  was  moving ;  from  time  to  time 
something  white  reappeared  on  the  surface,  and  exhausted  cries 
escaped.  "Help,  help,  Passereau,  I  am  drowning!"  Crouching,  in 
silence,  he  listened  without  answering,  just  as  leaning  over  a  balcony 
one  listens  to  some  distant  melody.  .  .  . 

1  Philogene  .  .  .  was  still  floating  on  the  surface,  tearing  away  the 
worn  brickwork  with  her  nails.  Then  Passereau,  with  a  great  effort 
tore  up  the  broken  stones  round  the  well's  margin,  and  threw  them 
down  upon  her  one  by  one. 

'  All  was  once  more  silent,  mournful  as  a  funereal  vision ;  all  night 
he  passed  up  and  down  under  the  willows.' 

Baudelaire  remembered  this  tale  in  connection  with  the 
drama  he  once  meditated  writing.  Here  is  the  description 
he  gave  of  his  hero's  crime  in  a  letter  to  Tisserant,  1854  : — 

'  Here  is  the  scene  of  the  crime.  Note  that  it  is  already 
premeditated.  The  man  comes  first  to  the  rendezvous.  The  place 
has  been  chosen  by  him.  Sunday  evening.  A  dark  road  or  open 


no       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

place.  In  the  distance  the  sound  of  a  string  band.  Sinister  and 
melancholy  scenery  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Paris.  Love  scene — 
as  sad  as  possible — between  this  man  and  woman  ;  he  wants  to  be 
forgiven— and  really  softens  ;  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  feels  all 
her  old  affection  reawakening,  the  woman  refuses.  This  refusal 
irritates  her  husband  who  puts  it  down  to  an  adulterous  passion,  or 
the  command  of  a  lover.  /  must  end  this>  yet  I  shall  never  have 
the  courage,  I  cannot  do  that  myself.  An  idea  of  genius,  full  of 
cowardice  and  superstition,  comes  to  him. 

'  He  feigns  sickness,  which  is  not  difficult,  his  real  emotion  helps 
him :  Look,  down  there  at  the  end  of  that  little  lane  to  the  left 
you  will  find  an  apple-tree — go  and  get  me  an  apple  (of  course  he 
can  find  some  other  pretext — I  only  jot  down  that  one  as  I  go). 
The  night  is  very  dark,  the  moon  is  hidden.  As  soon  as  his  wife  is 
lost  to  view  in  the  shadow  he  gets  up  from  the  stone  he  was  seated 
upon  :  "By  the  grace  of  God  I  If  she  escapes  so  much  the  better  !  If 
she  falls  in,  it  is  God  condemning  her/" 

*  He  has  shown  her  the  road  where  she  will  find  a  well  almost  level 
with  the  ground. 

'The  sound  of  a  heavy  body  falling  into  the  water  is  heard — but 
preceded  by  a  cry,  and  the  cries  continue. 

1  What  is  to  be  done — some  one  may  come ; — I  may  be  taken,  I 
shall  be  taken  for  the  assassin.  Besides  she  is  condemned.  .  .  . 
Ah  !  there  are  the  stones,  the  stones  at  the  edge  of  the  well. 

4  He  disappears  running. 

*  Empty  scene. 

k  While  the  noise  of  the  falling  bricks  swells  the  cries  decrease. 
They  cease.  The  man  reappears  :  "I  am  free  I  Poor  angel,  how 
she  must  have  suffered" ' * 

In  Madame  Putiphar  Borel  again  touches  the  high- 
water  mark  of  Romanticism  ;  but  there  are  some  fine 
things  in  the  book.  We  have  already  quoted  the  verse 
Preface,  so  pass  straightway  to  make  a  short  resume  of 
the  tale. 

1  Cp.  Flturs  du  Mai. 

'  Je  1'ai  jetee  au  fond  d'un  puits, 
Et  j'ai  mcme  pousse  sur  elle 
Tous  les  paves  de  la  margelle  ; 
Je  1'oublierai  si  je  le  puis  ! ' 


PREDECESSORS  in 

Deborah,  the  daughter  of  Lord  and  Lady  Cockermouth, 
is  in  love  with  Patrick  Fitzwhyte.  The  parents  do  not 
approve  of  her  passion,  and  remorselessly  separate  the 
two  lovers,  who  naturally  decide  to  escape  together. 

Lord  Cockermouth,  however,  discovers  their  conspiracy 
just  in  time  to  follow  the  fugitives  with  some  of  his 
companions.  They  attack  the  figure  they  suppose  to  be 
Patrick  and  seriously  wound  it,  only  to  discover  that  they 
have  got  Deborah.  The  two  lovers  manage  to  make  an 
arrangement  by  which  it  is  agreed  that  Patrick  shall 
make  his  escape  to  Paris,  to  be  followed  by  Deborah  as 
soon  as  her  wounds  are  healed.  Patrick  is  to  write  his 
address  in  Paris  on  the  fa9ade  of  the  Louvre  facing  the 
Seine  near  the  sixth  pillar.  The  device  works  well,  and 
Deborah  and  Patrick  meet  again  in  Paris.  In  the  mean- 
time, Patrick  has  been  condemned  for  having  murdered 
Deborah,  and  as  his  regiment  in  Paris  hear  of  this,  and 
since  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  has  fallen  in  love  with 
Deborah,  difficulties  arise. 

Next,  a  brother  officer  and  friend  of  Patrick's  is  con- 
victed of  having  written  a  libel  against  Madame  Putiphar 
(i.e.  Madame  de  Pompadour) ;  he  is  imprisoned  in  the 
Bastille,  and  Patrick  takes  it  upon  himself  to  go  to 
Madame  de  Pompadour  to  ask  for  a  pardon  for  his 
friend. 

Madame  Putiphar  at  once  falls  in  love  with  Patrick, 
who  finds  a  truly  original  way  of  responding  to  her 
advances.  He  goes  into  the  library,  takes  down  La  Nou- 
velle  Heloise  and  shows  Madame  Putiphar  the  passage 
where  it  is  said  :  '  La  femme  d'un  charbonnier  est  plus 
estimable  que  la  maitresse  d'un  roi.'  It  is  then  Patrick's 
turn  to  be  thrown  into  the  Bastille,  and  Deborah  is  sent 
to  the  king. 

In  prison  Patrick  finds  his  friend,  and  the  sufferings  of 
these  two  are  described  with  Poesque  power — it  is  really 
terrible. 


ii2       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

In  the  meantime  Deborah  has  had  a  son,  whom  she 
brings  up  with  the  sole  idea  of  making  him  avenge  her 
wrongs. 

When  this  son  is  old  enough  she  sends  him  to  her  old 
enemy  the  colonel  of  Patrick's  regiment,  telling  him  to 
avenge  his  father.  The  boy  insults  the  colonel,  who 
kills  him  in  a  duel,  puts  the  corpse  on  his  horse  and  sends 
it  back  to  Deborah.  This,  as  Baudelaire  remarked,  is 
one  of  the  most  powerful  scenes  in  the  book — youthful 
courage  stricken  down  at  the  first  blow,  and  the  annihila- 
tion of  all  the  fond  mother's  schemes  and  hopes. 

In  the  succeeding  chapters,  too,  Borel  again  shows  his 
real  gifts  in  his  vivid  picture  of  the  Revolution.  Through 
all  this  time,  Deborah's  one  aim  has  become  to  find  her 
husband.  In  the  end  she  is  successful ;  she  discovers  him 
in  prison — he  is  now  quite  old.  Deborah  embraces  him, 
but  he  does  not  know  her,  nor  can  he  be  made  to  under- 
stand ;  under  all  his  manifold  sufferings  his  reason  has 
given  way — he  is  quite  mad.  When  Deborah  becomes 
convinced  of  the  terrible  truth,  she  falls  down  dead.  So 
ends  this  long  novel.  It  is  a  work  very  characteristic  of 
Borel,  showing  his  morbid  tendency,  his  exaggeration, 
his  love  of  melodramatic  effect,  and  also  his  power  of 
description  and  of  conceiving  dramatic  effects. 

Borel  busied  himself  also  with  journalism  ;  he,  too,  like 
Baudelaire  later,  wrote  for  U  Artiste.  He,  too,  has  an 
insatiable  curiosity,  which  helps  him  on  very  much  in  his 
journalistic  labours,  and  engenders  in  him  all  Merimee's 
love  of  the  small,  telling  detail.  Thus  in  his  Vert  Galant 
(which  is  little  more  than  a  list  of  Henry  iv's  mistresses), 
he  tells  us  that  the  Comtesse  de  Chateaubriand  had  some- 
thing of  a  squint,  that  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes'  walk  was 
in  reality  a  waddle,  that  Diane  de  Poitiers'  right  arm  was 
longer  than  her  left,  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 

He  also  wrote  the  History  of  Footwear — ancient  and 
modern, — wherein  he  traces  the  history  of  cobblers,  begin- 


PREDECESSORS  113 

ning  by  interesting  himself  in  the  etymology  of  the  word 
cordonnier : — 

1  On  distinguait  alors  ceux  qui  faisaient  les  chaussures,  en  byzamiers 
et  en  cordonniers  selon  le  cuir  qu'ils  travaillent.  C'est  du  mot  cor- 
douaner  qu'a  ete  fait  a  la  longue  et  par  une  prononciation  adoucie 
notre  barbarisme  cordonnier.3 

Nor  does  he  omit  the  witty  solution  of  this  problem  cors 
donniers. 

Then  he  makes  a  list  of  all  the  shoemakers  who 
achieved  fame  : — 

'Jean  Baptiste  Gilla,  Florentine  shoemaker  and  author  of  very 
good  dialogues  in  the  manner  of  Lucian ;  Francis  Sforza ;  Hans 
Sachs ;  Svendembourg ;  Iphicrates,  and  the  Jew  shoemaker  who 
refused  help  to  Christ,  saying  to  Him,  "  Walk  on  !  "  ' 

This  aspect  of  the  subject  is  then  left  in  order  to  con- 
sider the  shoemaker's  work,  and  here  Borel  describes  for 
us  every  kind  of  footgear  possible  and  impossible — stopping 
to  regret  the  loss  of  the  famous  botte  a  chaudron,  that 
enormous  boot  that  came  half  way  up  the  body,  and  served 
the  horseman  as  receptacle,  desk,  and  cupboard  for  carry- 
ing utensils,  provisions,  and  fresh  ammunition.  We  can 
well  believe  that  Borel  regretted  the  disappearance  of  such 
a  picturesque  article  of  wear. 

He  next  proceeds  to  write  what  he  calls  Philologie 
Humoristique  in  the  manner  of  Anatole  France,  and 
discusses  the  impossibility  of  reading  souliers  de  verre 
in  connection  with  Cinderella's  slipper.  In  the  Latin 
sources,  he  tells  us,  we  shall  find  calceus  varius,  and  not 
calceus  mtreus,  and  yet  at  the  Opera  Comique  this  soulier 
vatrhas  degenerated  into  soulier  vert — which  is  very  good 
fooling. 

In  an  article  entitled  '  Reveries  Ethnologiques '  Borel 
regrets  that  we  cannot  trace  man  through  the  ages  in  the 
same  way  as  we  can  nouns  ;  this  leads  him  to  prove  for 
us  that  the  name  Hetzel  is  the  same  as  Attila,  and  this 

H 


ii4       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

name  Attila,  '  at  which  the  world  grew  pale,'  means 
nothing  more  than  '  partridge.'  At  the  conclusion  of 
this  article  he  says  : — 

'  The  mountains,  believe  us,  will  eternally  bring  forth  a  mouse. 
.  .  .  Conquerors,  revolutions,  will  never  make  anything  else  but 
philology.  The  end  and  the  beginning  of  all  things — is  grammar.' 

But  in  the  eyes  of  Parisian  editors  there  was  a  great 
fault  in  Borel's  writings — his  relentless  pursuit  of  origin- 
ality at  all  costs — even  at  that  of  puerility.  Gradually 
his  services  became  less  and  less  in  demand,  and  finally 
Borel  found  himself  literally  unable  to  obtain  work  in 
Paris.  In  1846  Gautier  obtained  for  him  the  post  of 
inspector  of  colonisation  in  Algeria,  whither  he  went 
accompanied  by  his  wife  and  son.  But  even  here  ill- 
luck  followed  him,  and  for  some  reason  (it  is  suggested 
on  account  of  his  persistence  in  drawing  up  his  reports 
in  verse)  he  was  requested  to  tender  his  resignation. 
The  last  years  of  his  life  he  spent  working  as  a  simple 
labourer,  till  in  1859,  wearied  out  with  his  struggles,  he 
allowed  himself  to  die  of  hunger. 

So  passed  away  one  of  the  most  flamboyantly  pictur- 
esque figures  of  literature. 

It  was  well  said  by  Baudelaire  of  Borel  that  he  had 

'  a  colour  of  his  own,  a  savour  sui  generis  ;  had  he  had  only  the 
charm  of  will,  that  in  itself  is  a  good  deal !  But  he  had  an 
enormous  love  of  letters,  and  nowadays  we  are  surrounded  by 
charming  tractable  poets  who  are  quite  ready  to  betray  the  muse  for 
a  mess  of  pottage.' 

Equally  true  is  Baudelaire's  remark  that  without  Borel 
there  would  be  a  gap  in  Romanticism. 

Whence  comes  it  then  that  Petrus  Borel's  tales  are  so 
little  known?  For  this  reason,  that  they  are  not  a  true 
picture  of  life.  Balzac,  speaking  of  one  of  George  Sand's 
novels,  wrote  with  great  justice  : — 


PREDECESSORS  115 

1 Jacques^  Mme.  Dudevant's  last  book,  is  a  counsel  to  husbands 
who  are  a  nuisance  to  their  wives  to  kill  themselves  in  order  to  set 
them  free.  This  book  is  false  from  end  to  end.  ...  All  these 
authors  build  on  unreality  (courcnt  dans  le  vide)  founded  on  hollow- 
ness;  there  is  nothing  true.  I  prefer  ogres,  Tom  Thumb,  The 
Sleeping  Beauty.' T 

In  Borel  there  is  too  much  of  the  exaggerated,  '  mystify- 
ing '  side  of  Baudelaire,  and  it  is  that  which,  spite  of  all 
his  talent,  keeps  him  from  holding  a  permanent  place  in 
our  reading. 

1  Lettres  ft  F  Etrangtrc. 


n6       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


THEOPHILE   GAUTIER 

CRITICS,  speaking  of  Gautier  in  connection  with  Baude- 
laire, have  said  over  and  over  again,  '  II  rendit  possible 
Baudelaire.'  The  Fleurs  du  Mai  are,  dedicated  to  Gautier, 
and  the  standard  edition  appeared  as  it  were  under  the 
protection  of  Gautier,  ushered  in  by  one  of  the  best  of  his 
critical  studies  as  Preface,  and  in  which  he  speaks  of  his 
friendship  with  Baudelaire  :  *  A  friendship  was  formed 
between  us  in  which  Baudelaire  always  kept  up  the 
attitude  of  a  favourite  disciple  towards  a  sympathetic 
master.' 

Thus  in  any  study  of  the  literary  influences  undergone 
by  Baudelaire  we  may  not  absolutely  neglect  Gautier. 
But  as  soon  as  we  come  to  study  the  question  closely  we 
see  that  the  debt  here  is  far  from  considerable. 

Let  us  then  seek  resemblances  between  the  two  writers 
in  the  first  place.  Gautier  said  of  himself  :— 

1 1  have  spent  my  life  in  the  pursuit  of  Beauty  under  all  its 
Protean  aspects,  for  the  purpose  of  portraying  it,  and  I  have  found 
it  only  in  nature  and  art.  Man  is  ugly,  always  and  everywhere ; 
he  is  only  valuable  in  his  intellect.'  And  he  goes  on  to  say :  '  It 
is  not  nature  that  must  be  rendered,  but  the  appearance,  the 
physiognomy  of  nature.  Therein  lies  all  art.' 

Baudelaire  holds  the  same  view  ;  he  writes  in  his  Conseils 
auxjeunes  litterateurs : — 

4  Eugene  Delacroix  once  said  to  me  :  "  Art  is  so  delicate  and  so 
fugitive  that  our  utensils  are  never  clean  enough,  our  means  never 
sufficiently  expeditious."  It  is  the  same  with  literature,  and  there- 
fore I  am  not  too  great  a  partisan  of  nature;  she  disturbs  the  mirror 
of  thought,' 


PREDECESSORS  117 

Baudelaire's  ideal  of  beauty  is  very  high  ;  neither  he 
nor  Gautier  admire  that  accessible  Beauty — the  ideal  of 
the  man  in  the  street.  As  Baudelaire  says :  '  I  only 
ask  for  beauty,  it  is  true,  but  for  me  she  must  be  so 
perfect  that  I  shall  probably  never  meet  her.' 

Gautier,  in  so  far  as  he  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
French  Romantic  movement  is  full  of  exotism.  He  says  : 
'  We  are  not  Frenchmen,  we !  we  tend  towards  other 
races  !  We  are  full  of  nostalgic  longings.' 

The  last  sentence  applies  singularly  well  to  the  case  of 
Baudelaire,  who  regards  the  world  as  one  vast  hospital, 
where  each  invalid  is  haunted  by  the  desire  to  change  the 
position  of  his  bed. 

We  have  seen,  too,  how  Baudelaire's  early  travels 
bring  an  exotic  note  into  his  work  ;  it  is  by  this  trait  that 
he  is  connected  with  the  Romantic  school,  and  it  is 
possible  that  Gautier  also  influenced  him  on  this  point. 

In  Gautier  we  have  already  a  poet  suffering  from  the 
Baudelairian  ennui;  it  would  perhaps  be  more  correct  to 
say  from  the  Romantic  ennui,  which  is  not  quite  the  same 
thing,  since  it  springs  from  a  different  cause.  We  quote  a 
good  example  of  this  humour  from  Gautier's  '  Theba'ide' : — 

1  Mon  reve  le  plus  cher  et  le  plus  caresse, 
Le  seul  qui  rit  encore  a  mon  coeur  oppresse, 
C'est  de  m'ensevelir  au  fond  d'une  chartreuse, 
Dans  une  solitude  inabordable,  affreuse  ; 
Loin,  bien  loin,  tout  la-bas  dans  quelque  sierra, 
Bien  sauvage,  ou  jamais  voix  d'homme  ne  vibra. 

De  mon  coeur  depeuple  je  fermerais  la  porte, 
Et  j'y  ferais  la  garde,  afin  qu'un  souvenir 
Du  monde  des  vivants  n'y  put  pas  revenir.  .  .  . 
Je  suis  las  de  la  vie  et  ne  veux  pas  mourir. 
Mes  pieds  ne  peuvent  plus  ni  marcher  ni  courir  .  .  . 
.  .  .  je  suis  une  lampe  sans  flamme, 
Et  mon  corps  est  vraiment  le  cercueil  de  mon  ame. 

Ne  plus  penser,  ne  plus  aimer,  ne  plus  hair ! 
Si  dans  le  coin  du  cceur  il  eclot  un  desir, 
Lui  couper  sans  pitie  ses  ailes  de  colombe, 
Etre  comme  un  cadavre  &endu  sous  la  tombe, 


ii8       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

• 

Dans  Timmobilite  savourer  lentement, 
Comme  un  philtre  endormeur,  1'aneantissement, 
Voilk  qui  est  mon  voeu. 

C'est  pourquoi  je  m'assieds  au  revers  du  fosse, 
Desabuse  de  tout,  plus  voute,  plus  casse 
Que  ces  chiens  mendiants  que  jusqu'a  la  porte 
Le  chien  de  la  maison  en  grommelant  escorte, 
C'est  pourquoi  fatigue  d'errer  et  de  gemir, 
Comme  un  petit  enfant  je  demande  a  dormir, 
Je  veux  dans  le  neant  renouveler  mon  etre, 
M'isoler  de  moi-meme  et  ne  plus  me  connaitre, 
Et  comme  en  un  linceul,  sans  y  laisser  un  pli, 
Rester  enveloppe  dans  mon  manteau  d'oubli.' 

And  here  is  quite  a  Baudelairian  passage  from  (  La  Mort 
dans  la  Vie ' : — 

*  Toute  ame  est  un  sepulcre  ou  gisent  mille  choses, 
Des  cadavres  hideux  dans  des  figures  roses 

Dorment  ensevelis. 

On  retrouve  toujours  les  larmes  sous  le  rire 
Les  morts  sous  les  vivants  et  Phomme  est  a  vrai  dire 
Une  Necropolis.' 

It  seems  to  us  probable  that  what  Baudelaire  most 
admired  in  Gautier  was  the  technical  artist.  Of  the  two 
poets  whom  we  know  him  to  have  read  and  admired, 
Poe  and  Sainte-Beuve,  neither  could  give  Baudelaire 
any  technical  lesson.  We  have  seen  that  he  copied  one 
or  two  of  Poe's  poetical  tricks  of  expression  ;  but  in  his 
poems  Poe  is  only  a  second-rate  artist,  and  also  a  poet 
of  one  nation  does  not  learn  technique  from  a  poet  of  a 
foreign  nation.  Nor  would  Baudelaire  find  anything  to 
copy,  as  regards  form,  in  the  poems  of  Sainte-Beuve,  for, 
with  the  exception  of  Wordsworth  (whom  he  admired), 
no  poet  has  written  more  prosaic  verse  than  the  author 
of  Joseph  Delorme.  What  Baudelaire  admired  most  in 
Gautier  was  the  poete  impeccable,  the  parfait  magicien  es 
lettres  frangaises,  and  it  is  in  this  capacity  that  Gautier 
has  some  influence  on  Baudelaire. 

Gautier  declared  that  rinexprimable  riexiste  pas,  and 
Baudelaire  is  formulating  the  same  theory  when  he 
writes : — 


PREDECESSORS  119 

'  There  is  in  a  word,  in  a  verb,  something  sacred  that  forbids  our 
making  out  of  them  a  mere  game  of  chance.  The  skilful  handling 
of  language  is  the  practice  of  a  suggestive  kind  of  sorcery.  For  it  is 
thus  that  colour  speaks  with  deep  and  thrilling  voice ;  that  buildings 
stand  up  in  sharp  prominence  on  the  depths  of  space ;  that  the 
equivocal  grimace  of  those  animals  and  plants  representative  of 
ugliness  and  evil  becomes  articulate;  that  a  perfume  calls  up  its 
corresponding  thought  and  recollection;  that  passion  murmurs  or 
roars  in  its  ever  changeless  language.' 

Having  undertaken  to  distil  the  poetry  of  modern 
Parisian  life,  Baudelaire  had  recourse  to  Gautier  as  to 
the  master-writer,  who  combined  in  his  style  relief  and 
exactitude.  Baudelaire  first  made  his  mark  through  the 
precision  of  his  pictures  ;  some  of  his  poems  (for  example 
*  Don  Juan  ')  are  absolute  bas-reliefs.  The  curious  thing  is 
that  it  is  not  so  much  this  side  of  Baudelaire  that  interests 
us  to-day,  but  rather  that  other  aspect — the  Baudelaire  of 
the  Invitation  au  Voyage  ;  not  the  subtle  artist  who  gives 
us  the  sensation  of  the  thing  achieved,  but  rather  he  who 
gives  us  the  impression  of  what  lies  beyond. 

As  for  the  art-for-art  theory,  if  Baudelaire  borrowed 
it  from  Gautier  he  also  transformed  it ;  for  though  in 
Baudelaire's  work  it  leads  him  to  love  of  artifice,  he  sees 
the  limits  of  Gautier's  theory.  Touching  this  subject  he 
wrote : — 

*  The  puerile  art-for-art  theory  by  its  exclusion  of  all  ethics,  and 
often  even  passion,  was  of  necessity  sterile.  It  put  itself  into 
fragrant  contradiction  with  all  the  spirit  of  humanity.  In  the  name 
of  those  higher  principles  which  constitute  universal  life  we  have  the 
right  to  declare  it  guilty  of  heterodoxy.' 

And  we  have  already  quoted  a  vigorous  passage  on  the 
danger  of  excessive  consideration  of  form. 

Baudelaire  was  always  fascinated  by  the  mystery  of 
beauty :  the  exterior  is  for  him  only  the  closed  window, 
whose  charm  lies  in  the  conjectures  to  which  it  gives  rise 
concerning  what  exists  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass. 

Gautier,  on  the  contrary,  cares  only  for  the  exterior  ;  he 


120       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

does  not  wish  to  penetrate  into  the  interior ;  he  tells  us, 
1 1  have  always  been  very  much  affected  by  externals, 
that  is  why  I  avoid  the  society  of  old  men.' 

Unlike  Baudelaire  again,  his  wish  is  que  le  soleil  entre 
partout)  which  is  far  from  the  Baudelairian  ideal,  which 
makes  melancholy  an  inseparable  attribute  of  beauty.  A 
good  example  of  Gautier's  views  on  this  subject  is  his 
'  Buchers  et  Tombeaux ' : — 

*  Le  squelette  etait  invisible 
Aux  temps  heureux  de  PArt  paien. 
L'homme,  sous  la  forme  sensible, 
Content  du  beau,  ne  cherchait  rien. 

Pas  de  cadavre  sous  la  tombe, 
Spectre  hideux  de  Petre  cher, 
Comme  d'un  vetement  qui  tombe, 
Se  deshabillant  de  sa  chair.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Part  versait  son  harmonic 
Sur  la  tristesse  du  tombeau. 

Les  tombes  etaient  attrayantes  : 
Comme  on  fait  d'un  enfant  qui  dort, 
D'images  douces  et  riantes 
La  vie  enveloppait  la  mort. 

La  mort  dissimulait  sa  face 
Aux  trous  profonds,  au  nez  camard, 
Dont  la  hideur  railleuse  efface 
Les  chimeres  du  cauchemar.  .  .  . 

Reviens,  reviens,  bel  art  antique, 
De  ton  Paros  etincelant 
Couvrir  ce  squelette  gothique  ; 
Devore  le  bucher  brulant ! ' 

which  is  quite  the  contrary  of  Baudelairism. 

Gautier  said  of  himself :  *  Je  suis  un  homme  pour  qui  le 
monde  visible  existe,'  but,  as  Mr.  Ransome  well  remarks, 
Baudelaire  is  a  man  *  pour  qui  le  monde  invisible  existe/ 
and  the  truth  of  this  holds  for  all  the  true  Baudelairians, 
and  this  is  the  marked  line  that  divides  them  from 
Theophile  Gautier. 


PART    IV 


POSTERITY 


VILLIERS  DE  L'ISLE  ADAM 

WE  have  now  to  pass  on  and  consider  the  influence 
of  Baudelaire  on  his  posterity — we  will  study  it  first  in 
France  and  then  in  England,  and  the  first  figure  with 
whom  we  have  to  deal,  following  chronological  order,  is 
Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam. 

Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  was  born  in  Brittany  at  St. 
Brieuc  in  November  1838.  He  came  to  Paris  in  1857, 
and  by  1858  had  already  composed  a  volume  of  Premieres 
Poesies,  which,  considering  their  author's  age,  are  remark- 
able enough.  Naturally,  considering  the  period,  there  is 
an  exotic  note,  and  we  find  an  <  Indian  Prayer '  with  the 
motto  dear  to  the  Romantic  *  foul  is  fair,'  and  are  told 
therein  of  the  powerful  allegiance  of  good  with  evil : — 

*  A  genoux,  le  brahmane 
Dit  en  courbant  le  crane 
Pres  du  fetiche  noir  : 
Grave  tdmoin  du  monde, 
Brahmah,  fais  que  je  sonde, 
Les  oracles  du  soir. 

Fais  que  ma  course  sainte 
Ne  trouve  pas  1'empreinte 
De  Sivah,  dieu  fatal, 
Ni  devant  ton  Silence 
La  puissante  alliance 
Du  bien  avec  le  maL 

123 


i24       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Ni  sur  le  roc  sauvage 
Le  fils  de  Pesclavage, 
Le  paria  tremblant, 
Ni  sur  sa  hutte  impure, 
Comme  un  hideux  augure, 
Le  Vampire  sanglant.' 

In  this  early  volume  we  find  already  that  seeking  for 
the  key  to  the  riddle  of  the  universe  which  is  a  sign  of 
the  times — Villiers'  great  preoccupation. 


A  MON  AMI  AMEDEE  LE  MENDIANT 

*  Au  moment  de  quitter  son  enfance  fanee, 
Quand  Phomme  voit  soudain  la  terre  moins  ornee, 

Le  ciel  plus  inconnu, 

Pour  la  premiere  fois  se  penchant  sur  lui-meme, 
II  se  pose  en  revant  la  question  supreme  : 

"  Pourquoi  suis-je  venu  ?" 

Ah  !  pauvre  matelot !     Loin  des  bords  de  la  vie, 
Tu  t'arretes,  cherchant  quelle  route  a  suivie 

Ta  barque  au  sillon  bleu. 

Mais  le  flot  sourd  1'entraine,  et  sans  cesse  1'egare 
Dans  la  brume  des  mers,  le  Destin,  sombre  phare, 

Souleve  un  doigt  de  feu. 

Derriere  lui,  bien  loin,  presque  sur  les  rivages, 
Deja  le  rameur  voit  voltiger  des  images 

Aux  fronts  purs  et  voiles  : 
Une  mere,  une  sceur,  meme  la  fiancee.  .  .  . 
Parfois  il  se  souvient  qu'une  terre  glacee 

Clot  leurs  yeux  etoiles. 

Et  ce  sont  les  adieux  d'autrefois  :  les  mains  blanches 
Qui  lui  serraient  la  main  ;  les  baisers  sous  les  branches, 

Et  les  jeunes  amours.  .  .  . 

Mais  pour  voguer  plus  seul  vers  de  plus  vastes  plages, 
En  detournant  la  tete  il  dechire  les  pages 

Du  livre  de  ses  jours. 

Alors  c'est  la  tempete  aux  souvenirs  funebres, 
Le  malheur,  pres  de  lui  nageant  dans  les  te"nebres, 
Le  suit  comme  un  ami ; 


POSTERITY  125 

Et  fermant  ses  yeux  las,  si  le  marin  sommeille, 
Le  malheur  vient  s'asseoir  au  gouvernail  et  veille 
Sur  son  homme  endormi. 


II  nous  faut  bien  lutter  contre  1'homme  et  1'espace, 
Car  perdus  tous,  parmi  la  tourmente  qui  passe 

En  courant  dans  les  cieux, 
Pour  supporter  le  poids  des  communes  miseres, 
Au  lieu  de  s'entr'aider,  tous  les  humains,  ces  freres 

Se  haissent  entre  eux. 

Les  uns,  insouciants,  dans  leurs  manteaux  se  couchent 
Et  s'en  vont.     II  en  est  dont  les  barques  se  touchent.  .  . 

A  deux  on  est  plus  fort, 

Et  cherchant  dans  1'amour  un  refuge  supreme, 
Seuls  ils  voguent  en  paix  sans  effroi  ni  blaspheme, 

Vers  Pinsondable  port. 

Mais  celui  qui  regarde,  intrepide  et  tranquille, 
Les  homines  et  les  riots,  &  qui  la  mer  sterile 

Toujours  offre  un  ecueil, 
II  s'y  dresse  en  silence  et  lutte  solitaire 
Toute  voile  pour  lui  n'est  au  fond  qu'un  suaire, 

Tout  esquif  qu'un  cercueil.  .  .  . 

Seul  alors  le  vieillard  abandonnant  la  voile 
Livre  aux  flots  de  1'oubli  cette  mer  sans  etoile, 

Sa  nef  aux  mats  brises.  .  .  . 

Jusqu'k  Pheure  ou,  laisant  tomber  au  fond  de  1'urne 
Un  sablier  de  plus,  le  Destin  taciturne 

Dans  1'ombre  dit :  "Assez." 

L'onde  parle  tout  bas  aux  rives  qu'elle  effleure, 
Et  Ton  entend  toujours,  sur  1' Ocean  qui  pleure, 

Le  vent  sombre  qui  fuit ; 
Et  chaque  aurore  vient  eclairer,  6  mystere  ! 
Les  chants  insoucieux  des  enfants  de  la  Terre 

Qui  partent  pour  la  Nuit ! ' 

In  *  Lama  Sabactanni,'  we  find  the  same  characteristic 
reflections  on  human  destiny  : — 


126       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  Que  fait-il  ici  has  ? — Oublier  et  souffrir  ! — 
Est-ce  vivre,  ignorer  la  raison  de  sa  vie, 
Et  sans  savoir  pourquoi,  hors  d'un  neant  chasse*, 
Marcher  dans  un  exil,  seul,  triste  et  delaisse, 
Ou  sa  fierte'  d'archange,  a  jamais  avilie 
Se  traine  sous  le  poids  de  sa  melancolie  ! 
Ou,  parce  qu'il  naquit,  au  hasard,  disperse 
Selon  le  coin  de  terre  appele  la  patrie,  * 

II  doit — fantome  obscur  de  crime  et  de  folie — 
Changer  de  conscience  en  changeant  de  passe* ! 
Et  toujours  et  toujours  allumer  pour  lui-meme 
Le  flambeau  d'un  Peut-etre,  incertain  et  supreme  ?  .  .  . 
A  1'heure  de  la  mort,  fatigue  d'abandon, 
S'il  se  tourne  vers  Toi,  Dieu  calme  du  pardon, 
Est-ce  parcequ'il  croit  ? — Le  dernier  mot  du  Doute 
C'est  la  voix  qui  murmure  a  son  oreille  :  "  Ecoute  ! 
Ce  fut  peut-etre  un  Dieu  :  C'est  peut-etre  un  Sauveur." 
—  Car  nous  avons  le  Doute  enfonce  dans  le  coeur.' 

And  he  is  led  to  regret  that  he  was  not  born  in  another 
age:— 

'  Si  J*avais  pu  venir  au  monde, 

Aux  premiers  jours  de  1'univers, 

Quand  sur  la  beaute  decouverte 

Eve  promenait  son  ceil  bleu, 

Quand  la  terre  e"tait  jeune  et  verte 

Et  quand  1'homme  croyait  en  Dieu.' 

In  Paris  he  soon  became  acquainted  with  Baudelaire, 
and  gradually  a  great  and  lasting  friendship  formed  itself 
between  the  two  poets.  Villiers  was  one  of  the  few 
friends  who  remained  with  Baudelaire  through  the  last 
tragic  two  years  of  his  life. 

There  are  extant  three  letters  from  Villiers  to  Baude- 
laire. We  quote  them  in  proof  of  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  regarded  the  poet  of  the  Fleurs  du  Mai. 

1  Fancy  my  not  saying  in  answer  to  M.  R.  when  he  asked  me 
what  you  had  created  :  "  What  do  you  understand  by  creation  ? 
Who  is  he  who  creates  or  does  not  create  ?  " 

4  What  is  the  point  of  this  hackneyed,  old  as  the  hills,  expres- 
sion ?  Baudelaire  is  the  most  powerful  and  consequently  the  most 


POSTERITY  127 

consistent  of  the  distressful  thinkers  of  this  miserable  century.  He 
strikes,  he  is  living,  he  sees  !  So  much  the  worse  for  those  who  do 
not  see ! ' 

The  second  letter  goes  even  further  : — 

{ When  I  open  your  volume  of  an  evening  and  read  again  your 
magnificent  lines  whose  every  word  is  a  fierce  mockery,  the  more  I 
read  them  the  more  I  find  to  reconstruct.  How  beautiful  what  you 
do  is  !  La  Vie  Anterieure,  V Allegoric  des  Vieillards,  la  Madone, 
les  Petites  Vieilles,  la  Chanson  de  FApres-Midi,  and  that  tour  de 
force,  la  Mort  des  Amants  in  which  you  apply  your  musical  theories. 
E  Irremediable  with  the  hegelian  depth  of  its  opening,  the  Squelettes 
laboureurs,  and  the  sublime  bitterness  of  Reversibilite,  in  fact  every- 
thing up  to  Abel  et  Cam.  ...  All  that  you  know  is  regal.  Sooner 
or  later  its  humanity  and  greatness  absolutely  must  be  recognised. 
.  .  .  But  what  an  eulogy  is  the  laughter  of  those  who  are  incapable 
of  respect !  Do  not  be  annoyed  with  my  enthusiasm ;  you  know 
well  that  it  is  sincere.' 

In  a  later  letter  he  offers  Baudelaire  a  little  legend 
translated  from  the  Latin,  and  which  reminded  him  of 
Baudelaire's  '  L'Etranger.'  Here  it  is  : — 

'  There  was  once  a  monk  who  had  made  a  pact  with  the  devil : 
I  mean  he  had  accepted  the  services  of  a  kind  of  demon.  This 
demon,  in  spirit,  was  not  of  the  guiltiest.  At  the  time  of  that 
terrible  strife  he  had  followed  where  Lucifer  led  vaguely,  almost 
like  a  sheep.  He  had  not  pronounced  his  views  on  the  famous 
non  serviam,  and  had  found  himself  banished  from  joy  and  light 
almost  before  he  had  time  to  realise  it.  So  that  his  life  became  a 
kind  of  dream,  and  he  no  longer  knew  what  had  happened.  He 
was  not  wicked,  but  he  had  contracted  the  fall-mania,  seeing  the 
mass  of  dark  legends  knocking  up  against  one  another  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  crowd.  Then  with  the  passing  of  the  long  interminable 
centuries,  he  had  forgotten  that — all  that  he  had  forgotten.  ...  So 
one  day  he  noticed  Earth,  and  finding  it  as  comfortable  to  stay 
there  as  in  the  other  places  where  he  was  before,  he  went  into  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  monastery — for  he  was  fond  of  quiet.  There 
somehow  or  other  he  once  was  useful  to  the  old  abbe.  The  old 
abbe,  who  was  a  good  fellow,  at  once  saw  (with  all  the  necessary 
reserves  of  conscience)  what  an  appalling  misfortune  must  have 


128       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

happened  far  back  in  eternity  to  this  demoniac  little  fellow,  and 
he  did  not  rain  forth  curses  on  his  melancholy  ghostly  guest.  He 
asked,  for  he  did  not  want  to  be  behindhand  with  such  a  person, 
if  he,  in  his  turn,  could  not  help  him  or  please  him  in  some  way. 
He  pressed  the  question  on  seeing  the  demon  sadly  shake  what 
served  him  as  a  head. 

*  "  Well  then,"  said  the  latter,  "  since  you  ask  me  I  will  tell  you 
that  you  can  do  something  for  me." 

'"How?"  asked  the  monk. 

'  "Ah,"  said  the  demon,  "have  you  the  power  to  build  a  belfry 
here?" 

'"Yes,"  said  the  monk. 

'  "  Then  have  a  belfry  built,  with  a  great  bell,  and  then  have  it 
rung  at  night  when  you  can." 

*  "Why?"  said  the  monk  anxiously. 

1  "  I  love  bells— the  sound  of  bells  .  .  .  beautiful  bells." ' 

No  one  at  that  period  could  come  into  real  contact  with 
Baudelaire  without  being  introduced  by  him  to  the  works 
of  Poe,  and  Villiers  could  not  fail  to  be  attracted  by 
writings  which  from  one  point  of  view  showed  distinct 
affinities  with  his  own  ideas. 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Villiers  learnt  little  from  Poe. 
The  puerile  use  and  abuse  of  italics  and  capitals  is 
certainly  a  trick  learnt  from  Poe.  Certain  of  the  Contes 
Cruels  remind  us  of  the  tales  of  Poe,  a  sometimes 
gratuitous  profusion  of  physically  horrible  detail — such 
as  the  descriptions  of  torture  in  L 'Aventure  de  Tse-i-la, 
and  the  superhuman  character  of  his  men,  and  particu- 
larly of  his  women.  Resemblance  does  not  always 
postulate  imitation,  and  if  Villiers  copied  Poe  he  is  vin- 
dicated in  that  he  surpassed  his  model.  Catalina,  La 
Torture  par  VEsperance,  both  Poesque,  are  sufficient  proof 
of  this  statement.  Poe  was  interested  in  effects  of  the 
terrible,  and  deals  often  in  the  physically  horrible  to 
produce  these  effects.  The  idea  of  death  occupied  Poe  to 
the  length  of  becoming  an  obsession,  but  the  mysticism 
of  Villiers  opens  up  for  him  a  field  of  speculation  far 


POSTERITY  129 

wider  than  the  philosophy  of  Poe.  Villiers  is  in  this  way 
a  greater  artist  than  Poe. 

The  impression  created  by  Villiers  in  Paris  seems  to 
have  been  a  curious  one.  He  was  of  the  race  of  insatiable 
talkers — to  the  point  of  boring  his  hearers,  who,  neverthe- 
less, found  it  worth  while  to  note  down  his  ideas  and 
appropriate  them  for  their  own  uses.  He  had  not  the 
consolation  as  Poe  had,  as  Baudelaire  had,  of  even  a 
small  clique  of  admirers.  His  was  indeed  a  sad  life,  he 
lived  in  great  poverty,  Axel  was  written  in  a  garret,  and, 
more  often  than  not,  on  an  empty  stomach.  It  was  only 
at  the  end  of  his  life  that  things  began  to  brighten,  when 
periodicals  began  to  seek  his  work,  and  he  made  a  tour 
in  Belgium — unlike  Baudelaire — with  success.  Still,  he 
died  in  the  hospital  of  the  brethren  Saint  Jean  de  Dieu, 
whither  he  had  been  transferred  on  the  recommendation 
of  Huysmans,  apparently  little  missed  of  the  literary 
world,  in  1889. 

It  is  small  surprise  to  us  then  to  be  told  by  Fran9ois 
Coppee  that  Villiers  spoke  but  little  of  himself  and  how 
he  lived. 

*  He  seemed  to  live  in  a  dream,'  says  Coppee,  '  and  only  came 
forth  from  it  to  read  us  a  few  pages  of  peculiar  and  magnificent 
prose,  or  more  rarely  of  poetry,  or  to  delight  us  with  his  rare  gifts 
as  a  musician.' 

We  can  only  hope  that  by  '  living  in  a  dream  '  he  was 
really  able  to  forget  his  sordid  present. 

The  work  of  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  falls  naturally  into 
two  classes,  according  as  they  are  the  outcome  of  the  two 
contrasting  tempers  of  his  mind — lyric  and  ironic. 

In  the  first  humour  he  is  a  great  idealist,  above  all  a 
dreamer.  For  him,  as  for  his  Claire  Lenoire, 

'  to  dream  ...  is  in  the  first  place  to  forget  the  omnipotence  of 
inferior  minds,  a  thousand  times  more  abject  than  Foolishness !  It 
is  to  cease  to  hear  the  irremediable  cries  of  those  who  are  eternally 
despoiled !  'Tis  to  forget  the  humiliations  that  every  one  undergoes, 

I 


130       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

and  which  you  call  social  life !  It  is  to  forget  those  so-called  duties 
which  revolt  conscience,  and  are  no  other  than  the  love  of  baser 
immediate  interests  in  whose  name  it  is  permitted  to  remain 
heedless  of  the  misery  of  the  disinherited.  It  is  to  contemplate  in 
the  depths  of  one's  thoughts  an  occult  world  of  which  external 
realities  are  scarcely  even  the  reflection.  It  is  to  reinforce  our 
invisible  hope  in  Death — who  already  approaches.  It  is  to  collect 
one's  self  in  the  Imperishable  !  It  is  to  feel  one's  self  solitary  but 
eternal !  Tis  to  love  ideal  Beauty,  freely — as  the  rivers  flowing  to 
the  sea !  And  all  other  pastimes  or  duties  are  not  worth  a  sunny 
day  in  these  accursed  times  in  which  I  am  forced  to  live.  At 
bottom  to  dream  is  to  die,  to  die  at  least  in  silence  and  with  a 
something  of  heaven  in  one's  eyes.' 

This  dreamer  carried  to  the  highest  pitch  the  Baude- 
lairian  *  detached '  attitude  towards  life.  He  compares 
himself  to  a  member  of  the  audience  at  a  theatre  who  is 
not  interested  by  the  play,  and  only  stays  it  out  from 
courtesy  to  his  neighbour,  whom  he  would  otherwise 
disturb  :  '  Ainsi  je  vivais  par  politesse,'  he  says.  And  the 
aid  to  staying  out  the  play  lies,  as  we  have  seen,  in  his 
dreams  and  in  his  Art. 

In  the  same  way  he  has  all  the  Baudelairian  hatred  of 
democracy,  and  of  all  that  democracy  loves.  Thus  his 
ideal  of  Art  is  high — its  essential  quality  lies  in  its  being 
exceptional.  It  is  this  that  leads  him  to  paint  exceptional 
men  and  women,  with  exceptional  names,  and  surrounded 
by  exceptional  landscape.  Commonplace  is,  for  him,  the 
unforgiveable  sin,  as  he  says  :  '  The  only  beings  who 
deserve  the  name  of  Artist  are  the  creators,  those  who 
call  up  intense,  unknown  and  sublime  impressions.' 

Any  art  into  which  a  hint  of  imitation  enters  is,  in  his 
eyes,  at  once  inferior.  Music  was  his  passion  ;  Wagner 
perhaps  his  greatest  enthusiasm  (he  was  himself  no  mean 
performer  in  a  Wagnerian  style  of  improvisation  on  the 
piano) ;  but  the  art  of  the  virtuoso-musician  calls  forth 
from  him  the  scathing  remark,  *  Quelle  odeur  de 
singes ! ' 


POSTERITY  131 

Villiers'  art  is  indeed  exceptional — therein  perhaps  lies 
the  reason  of  the  neglect  of  his  work  till  this  day.  He 
was  almost  exclusively  occupied  with  ideas  ;  well  might 
he  have  said  :  '  I  love  to  lose  myself  in  a  mystery,  to 
pursue  my  Reason  to  an  O  altitude.'  And  he  cared  little 
whether  the  particular  mystery  which  engrossed  him 
would  interest  the  public  whom,  nevertheless,  he  expected 
to  read  his  writings. 

But  the  mysteries  he  loves  to  pursue  are  not  the  puzzles 
of  the  everyday  material  life,  but  of  those  which  exist 
in  the  realms  of  thought.  *  Mind  is  the  foundation  of 
the  universe,'  is  his  doctrine,  from  which  follows  his 
great  saying,  '  Understanding  is  the  reflected  light  of 
creation.' 

His  philosophy  is  perhaps  most  clearly  enunciated  by 
Maitre  Janus  in  AoceL  We  quote  his  words  : — 

'  Know  then  once  for  all  that  there  is  for  thee  no  other  universe 
than  that  very  conception  of  it  which  is  reflected  in  thine  inmost 
thoughts,  for  thou  canst  not  wholly  see  it,  nor  know  it,  nor  even 
distinguish  a  single  point  of  it,  just  exactly  as  this  mysterious  point 
must  be  in  reality.  .  .  .  Truth  herself  is  but  a  wayward  concep- 
tion made  by  the  race  in  which  thou  passest  by,  and  which  lends  to 
Totality  the  forms  of  its  mind.  Wouldst  thou  possess  her  ?  Create 
her  ! — just  as  anything  else.  .  .  . 

'Thou  art  thy  future  creator.  Thou  art  a  God  who  feigns  to 
forget  his  whole  essence  only  that  he  may  the  better  realise  its 
brilliance.  For  that  which  thou  callest  the  universe  is  nothing  but 
the  result  of  this  pretence  of  which  the  secret  is  in  thee.  Escape 
then  from  this  gaol-world,  thou  offspring  of  prisoners.  Free  thyself 
from  this  doom  of  Becoming  ! 

'Thy  Truth  shall  be  that  which  thou  hast  conceived :  is  not  its 
essence  as  infinite  as  thyself?  Take  courage  then  to  bring  it  forth 
most  radiant,  that  is  to  choose  it  thus.  .  .  .  But  decide  that  it  is 
hard  to  become  a  God  again — and  pass  into  nothingness :  for  this 
very  thought,  if  thou  dwellest  upon  it,  becomes  base,  it  contains  a 
sterile  hesitation.' 

Such  were  the  speculations  that  gained  a  hold  over 


132       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Villiers.  There  is  no  limit  to  such  thought  once  the  philo- 
sopher enters  on  it,  and  these  speculations  may  be  said 
even  to  have  tormented  him  ;  he  has  all  the  restless 
curiosity  of  Baudelaire  and  Sainte-Beuve.  When  he  says 
in  Claire  Lenoire, 

( Nevertheless,  I  am  forced  to  confess — I  am  the  victim  of  an 
hereditary  disease  which  has  long  baffled  the  effects  of  my  reason 
and  my  will !  It  consists  in  an  apprehension,  an  ANXIETY,  in  a 
word,  a  DREAD,  that  seizes  upon  me  like  a  convulsion,  making  me 
realise  all  the  bitterness  of  a  sharp,  infernal  restlessness,' 

it  is  a  statement  of  his  own  case.  '  Cursed  are  the 
dreamers,'  he  says  in  the  same  work. 

1  Vanity  of  Vanities '  is  his  chosen  theme.  Axel  is  the 
story  of  a  young  girl  who  from  desire  of  worldly  power 
refuses  to  take  up  the  life  of  the  cloister,  and  of  a  young 
man  who  is  obsessed  by  the  desire  for  gold.  But  when 
these  two  meet  the  desire  of  love  in  them  conquers 
all  else,  and  since  they  now  understand  the  futility  of 
all  desires,  they  choose  death  —  the  one  thing  perfectly 
obtainable. 

Or  to  take  another  example  from  '  Akedysseril.'  This 
queen  from  political  reasons  has  decided  on  the  death  of 
a  young  royal  couple.  Her  heart,  however,  was  touched 
at  the  sight  of  their  mutual  devotion,  and  she  gives  the 
order  to  an  old  priest  that  their  death  shall  take  place  in 
such  a  wise  that  they  shall  in  it  be  at  the  height  of  joy. 
She  afterwards  discovers  that  the  old  priest  separated  the 
two  lovers,  and  that  they  met  their  death  each  alone — 
longing  for  the  other.  In  her  anger  she  enters  the 
forbidden  temple,  seeks  out  the  priest  and  pours  the 
torrent  of  her  wrath  upon  him.  Then  the  priest  explains 
to  her  that  these  two  did  indeed  die  in  the  greatest 
pleasure,  not  disillusioned,  and  cherishing  always  the 
hope  of  meeting  again, — an  unrealised  hope  being  the 
greatest  gift  of  life,  since  realisation  is  ever  imperfect. 


POSTERITY  133 

This  is  very  bald  analysis.  The  story  is  magnificently 
told  ;  it  is  perhaps  the  finest  thing  that  Villiers  has 
done. 

So  much  then  for  Villiers  the  dreamer.  On  the  other 
hand  is  deep  distrust  of  the  cant  of  progress.  His  convic- 
tion that  science,  with  all  its  advances,  does  nothing 
towards  raising  the  level  of  public  morality,  led  him  to 
meet  his  adversaries  on  this  question  with  that  finest  of 
all  weapons — irony.  This  is  the  temper  of  such  tales  as 
L'heroisme  du  docteur  Hallidontil,  the  story  of  the  doctor 
who  shoots  the  patient  he  has  miraculously  cured  in 
order  to  discover  the  working  of  the  cure  for  the  benefit 
of  the  future  race,  showing  his  amour  exclusif  de 
Vhumanite  au  parfait  mepris  de  Vindimdu  present. 

He  is  a  veritable  master  of  irony  —  such  stories  as 
L'Aventure  de  Tse-i-la,  Les  Demoiselles  de  Bienfilatre, 
Le  Secret  cPArdiane  (suggested  by  Barbey  d'Aurevilly's 
Bonheur  dans  le  crime),  Ulncomprise  are  unsurpassed  of 
their  kind.  Indeed,  it  is  in  the  shorter  tales  that  the  irony 
is  the  more  telling.  UEve  Future  is  his  longest  effort 
in  this  realm,  and  is  a  development  of  Hoffmann's  idea  of 
the  human  doll  worked  up  into  a  volume  of  375  pages 
to  prove  Villiers'  Baudelairian  thesis  of  the  futility 
of  scientific  progress.  Claire  Lenoire  is  one  of  the  best 
known  of  this  class,  with  its  conversations  on  the  futility 
of  science,  its  relentless  pushing  of  her  theories  to  their 
logical  conclusion,  its  supernatural  ending — and  here,  it 
is  interesting  to  note  that,  to  the  supernatural  of  which 
Villiers  learnt  the  charm  from  Poe,  he  adds  a  moral  note 
which  is  entirely  lacking  in  Poe. 

Poe  forgets  our  world  entirely  ;  Villiers,  on  the  other 
hand,  sees  in  this  world  the  waiting-room  of  the  unknown, 
whence  he  will  pass  to  revelation.  It  is  the  Catholic  con- 
ception which  is  without  its  counterpart  in  the  American 
writer.  Though  assailed  by  doubts,  and  saddened  by  his 
conviction  of  the  vanity  of  human  wishes,  Villiers  kept 


134       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

his  faith,  and  these  lines  from  his  Premieres  Poesies  could 
have  been  as  sincerely  penned  in  his  last  years  : — 

'  Si  nous  n'aimons  plus  rien,  pas  meme  nos  jeunesses, 
Si  nos  cceurs  sont  remplis  d'inutiles  tristesses, 
S'il  ne  nous  reste  rien  ni  des  Dieux  ni  des  Rois, 
Comme  un  dernier  flambeau,  gardons  au  moins  la  Croix  ! ' 

Rivarol  says  somewhere,  '  L'impiete  est  une  indiscre- 
tion/ One  might  say  the  same  of  irony  when  considering 
the  writer  in  his  relation  with  his  contemporary  period  ; 
therein,  perhaps,  is  the  reason  of  Villiers'  lack  of  success. 
Or  perhaps  it  is  as  he  himself  says  : — 

'Lorsque  le  front  seul  contient  1'existence  d'un  homme,  cet 
homme  n'est  eclaire  qu'au-dessus  de  la  tete,  alors  son  ombre  jalouse 
renversee  toute  droite  au-dessous  de  lui,  1'attire  par  les  pieds  pour 
I'entralner  dans  I'lnvisible.' 

Anatole  France  said  of  him  :  (  He  passed  like  a  dreamer 
through  life,  blind  to  what  we  saw  and  seeing  what  we 
could  not  see.' 

And  in  conclusion  let  us  quote  the  words  of  Claire 
Lenoire : — 

*  There  are  beings  who  are  acquainted  with  the  paths  of  life,  and 
are  curious  about  the  paths  of  death,  and  these,  for  whom  the  reign 
of  the  Spirit  should  come,  look  down  upon  the  passing  of  the  years, 
for  they  hold  possession  of  the  Eternal.' 

They  may  serve  as  epitaph. 


POSTERITY  135 


II 
BARBEY    D'AUREVILLY 

BARBEY  D'AUREVILLY  was  an  exceedingly  prolific  writer. 
His  writings  range  over  a  varied  field :  he  is  critic,  novelist, 
ecclesiastical  historian,  and  historian  of  Beau  Brummel. 
M.  Charles  Buet  described  him  as  a  '  true  soldier  of  the 
pen  .  .  .  ever  with  drawn  sword  and  hat  on  head.' 

His  most  important  works  are  L?  Amour  Impossible 
(1841),  Du  Dandy sme  et  de  Georges  Brummel  (1845),  Une 
vieille  Maitresse  (1851),  Les  Prophetes  du  Passe  (1851), 
L'Ensorcelee  (1854),  Le  Chevalier  Destouches  (1864), 
Rythmes  oublies  (1858),  Un  Pretre  Marie  (1864),  Les 
Diaboliques  (1874),  etc. 

His  numerous  critical  articles  have  been  collected  in 
the  Quarante  Medaillons  de  V  Academie  (1863),  and  Les 
CEuvres  et  les  Hommes.  He  also  from  time  to  time  con- 
tributed poems  to  various  reviews  ;  his  poetical  work  was 
not  collected  till  after  his  death.  He  wrote  of  it  in  a 
letter  to  Trebutien  of  1851  : — 

'  I  like  to  keep  little  poems,  which  are  like  sentimental  dates  in 
my  life.  You  show  them  to  twenty-five  people  of  whom  you  are 
fond,  and  that  is  all.  At  least  in  my  case  that  will  be  all.' 

And  again  he  refers  to  them  as 

'those  heart- wrung  poems,  better  suited  perhaps  to  a  setting  of 
obscurity  and  mystery  than  to  the  kindled  glowing  lamp  of  com- 
mentary.' 

Something  of  Alfred  de  Vigny's  stoicism  has  passed 
into  these  poems. 


136       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

1  Si  tu  pleures  jamais,  que  ce  soit  en  silence  ! 
Si  Ton  te  voit  pleurer,  essuie  au  moins  tes  pleurs ' 

is  his  doctrine.     He  expresses  it  again  in  these  lines  :— 

'  Saigne,  saigne  mon  cceur,  saigne  plus  lentement. 
Prends  garde  !  on  t'entendrait  .  .  .  saigne  dans  le  silence, 
Comme  un  cceur  epuise  qui  deja  saigna  tant 
A  bout  de  sang  et  de  souffrance. 

Quand  parmi  les  sans-cceur,  pauvre  cceur,  je  te  traine, 
Sous  mon  froc  etrique  tu  saignes  dans  la  nuit, 
Les  six  lignes  de  chair  de  la  poitrine  humaine 
Pourraient  trahir  ton  faible  bruit. 

Mais  je  ne  permets  pas  aux  hommes  de  la  foule 
Insolents,  curieux  de  tout  cruel  destin, 
De  t'approcher,  cceur  fier,  pour  entendre  en  mon  sein 
Degoutter  ton  sang  qui  s'ecoule. 

Saigne,  saigne,  mon  cceur  .  .  .  j'etoufferai  1'haleine      ' 
Qui  pourrait  a  1'odeur  reveler  le  martyr  ! 
Saigne  et  meurs,  cceur  maudit,  .  .  .  car  la  Samaritaine 
Manque  a  jamais  pour  te  guerir.' 

If  you  would  understand  the  character  of  Barbey 
d'Aurevilly's  work  there  is  a  great  English  novelist — not 
long  dead — who  should  be  read  and  compared,  George 
Gissing.  These  two  authors  who  are  so  different  (that  is 
just  why  we  put  their  names  side  by  side)  seem  to  have 
sought  the  same  kind  of  pleasure  in  letters. 

For  both  of  them  life  was  infinitely  painful  ;  both  were 
athirst  for  violent  exaggerated  emotions. 

Gissing  required  from  his  Nether  World,  wherein  the 
women  are  savage,  the  men  brutal,  and  human  intel- 
ligence stunted,  his  revenge  and  at  the  same  time  his 
freedom. 

His  revenge :  for  he  never  hid  his  hatred  of  the  poor 
and  their  life. 

His  freedom  :  because,  by  dint  of  describing  the  sordid 
existence  he  knew  so  well,  he  produced  a  state  of  excite- 
ment which  raised  him  above  reality. 

In  the  same  way  literature  was  to  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  a 


POSTERITY  137 

marvellous  opium  which  consoled  him  for  the  tricks  of 
fate.  But  whilst  Gissing  is  determined  to  show  the  dis- 
agreeable side,  the  blots  of  society,  Barbey  d'Aurevilly 
(and  herein  as  wrong  as  Gissing)  plunges  into  orgies  of 
pictures,  and  violent  inventions  which  terrify  the  reader. 

And  yet  nothing  can  be  less  artificial  than  these  novels. 
Whether  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  evoke  the  scarred  face  of  an 
unreal  abbe  de  la  Croix-Jugan,  whether  he  describe  the 
ultra-excessive  passions  of  a  Ryno  de  Marigny,  whether 
Gissing  create  the  character  of  Biffen  in  New  Grub  Street, 
both  authors  have  gained  their  end,  that  is,  the  expansion 
of  their  true  personality.  They  have  been  really  them- 
selves. 

It  was  Stendhal  who  wrote  to  Balzac  those  pregnant 
words  :  '  I  take  a  character  well  known  to  myself ;  I  leave 
him  the  habits  he  has  contracted  in  the  art  of  going  every 
morning  to  hunt  for  happiness,  then  I  give  him  more  wit.1 

That  is  just  what  these  two  novelists  have  done. 

As  an  English  critic *  has  said,  '  Gissing's  men  and 
women  think.'  Gissing  has  given  them  his  mind. 

In  the  same  way  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  lent  his  imagination 
to  all  the  people  he  created.  This  is  easily  explained 
when  we  know  the  circumstances  of  the  French  writer. 
As  quite  a  child  he  lived  in  the  old  Norman  town  of 
Valognes,  and  knew  some  survivors  of  the  wars  of  the 
Chouans.  And  out  of  their  recollections  and  his  own 
imagination  Barbey  wrote  his  Ensorcelee  and  his  Chevalier 
des  Touches. 

In  the  same  way  having  known  provincial  French 
society  of  after  Waterloo,  young  royalists  on  the  one 
hand,  old  veterans  on  the  other,  he  wrote  his  Bonheur 
dans  le  Crime,  his  Diner  dAthees,  and  his  Dessous  de 
Cartes  dune partie  de  whist.* 

1  Times,  Literary  Supplement,  January  n,  1912. 

2  He  said  himself,  '  Life,  passionate  life  with  its  successive  disgust,  could  never 
make  him  forget  these  childish  impressions. ' 


138       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Barbey  d'Aurevilly  presents  a  curious  combination  of 
contrasts.  In  the  first  place  materially.  This  lover  of 
beauty  in  all  things,  the  historian  of  Brummel,  and  who 
would  be  the  greatest  of  '  Dandys,'  was  precluded  by  his 
poverty  from  gratifying  this  desire. 

The  second  is  a  contrast  of  mind — he  alternates  between 
the  most  fervent  Catholicism  on  the  one  hand,  which  leads 
him  to  produce  Un  Pretre  Marie,  and  on  the  other  a 
curious  impiety  which  makes  him  write  Les  Diaboliques. 
These  two  attitudes  are  not  meant  to  include  the  whole  of 
d'Aurevilly's  writings.  At  his  greatest  he  is  as  great  as 
Balzac,  for  example  in  his  novels  La  meille  Maitresse  and 
Le  Chevalier  des  Touches. 

It  is  the  first  attitude — the  attitude  of  fervent  Catholicism 
— which  is  the  sincere  one.  He  constituted  himself  de- 
fender of  the  faith  to  the  point  of  composing  the 
apology  for  the  Inquisition.  Everything  now  springs 
from  Catholicism  he  tells  us : — 

'  We  have  arrived  at  such  an  advanced  point  in  history  that  there 
is  nowhere  anything  profound  outside  Catholicism.  The  various 
succeeding  civilisations  have  so  shaken  the  human  soul  that  all 
which  was  only  on  the  surface  has  fallen  away.  After  Shakespeare, 
whose  religion  is  unknown — who  worshipped  Saturn  perhaps,  we  do 
not  know — indifferent  to  everything  like  Goethe,  after  Shakespeare 
and  Goethe,  these  soothsayers  who  probed  the  entrails  of  the  human 
victim  as  far  as  the  knife  could  go — there  is  really  nothing  save 
Catholicism  that  can  teach  us  anything  about  the  human  heart. 
Outside  Catholicism  is  neither  philosophy  nor  poetry.  There  are 
only  tilters  against  style,  more  or  less  successful  wrestlers  with 
language,  technical  but  uninspired  artists.  ...  In  poetry,  ethics, 
or  the  human  heart,  there  is  nothing  to  look  for  outside  Catholicism, 
any  more  than  in  politics,  government,  or  social  science.  Before  it, 
there  is  only  the  stammering  and  the  rudimentary,  already  corrupt 
movements  of  human  nature.  Behind  it  I  can  only  see  Barbarity, 
a  Barbarity  easily  victorious  over  a  civilisation  that  has  not  even 
sufficient  will  to  defend  itself.' 

And  in  the  Preface  of  La  meille  Maitresse  he  returns  to 


POSTERITY  139 

the  subject — the  virtue  of  Catholicism  is  its  acceptance  of 
everything : — 

'  What  is  morally  and  intellectually  magnificent  in  Catholicism  is 
that  it  is  broad,  comprehensive,  immense;  that  it  embraces  the 
whole  of  human  nature  and  its  diverse  spheres  of  activity,  and  that 
above  all  that  it  embraces  it  inscribes  its  maxim  "  Cursed  are  the 
scandalised  ! "  There  is  nothing  prudish,  squeamish,  pedantic  nor 
troublesome  about  Catholicism.  It  leaves  all  that  to  false  virtue, 
to  shorn  puritanism.  Catholicism  loves  the  arts  and  accepts  their 
audacities  without  flinching.  It  accepts  their  passions  and  their 
pictures,  because  it  knows  that  a  lesson  can  be  drawn  from  them, 
even  when  the  artist  himself  does  not  draw  it, 

' ...  To  paint  what  is,  to  seize  upon  human  reality,  be  it  crime 
or  virtue,  to  make  it  live  through  the  all-powerfulness  of  inspiration 
and  form,  to  show  reality,  vivify  it  till  it  reaches  the  ideal,  that  is 
the  artist's  mission.  From  the  Catholic  point  of  view  artists  are  on 
a  lower  plane  than  ascetics,  but  they  are  not  ascetics  :  they  are 
artists.  Catholicism  hierarchises  merit,  but  does  not  mutilate 
man. 

*  Each  of  us  has  the  vocation  of  his  faculties.  The  artist  is  not  a 
police  inspector  of  ideas.  When  he  has  created  a  reality  by  painting 
it,  he  has  accomplished  his  task.  Let  us  not  ask  more  of  him  ! ' 

His  long  novel  Un  Pretre  Marie  is  the  highest  develop- 
ment of  his  Catholic  temper  with  its  study  of  the  con- 
sequences of  the  priest's  sin. 

Barbey  d'Aurevilly  is  a  perfect  example  of  that  Baude- 
lairian  state  of  mind,  of  which  we  have  already  spoken, 
wherein  a  fervid  Catholic  finds  delight  in  a  pose  of 
sacrilege. 

For  suddenly  he  turns  away  from  his  sincere  Catholic 
attitude,  and  sets  to  work  to  write  his  Diaboliques  with  the 
direct  aim  of  writing  something  more  or  less  scandalous. 
In  the  Preface,  he  wrote  of  these  tales  : — 

1  Of  course  with  their  title  of  Diaboliques  they  do  not  pretend  to 
be  a  prayer  book  nor  Christian  Imitation.  They  are  written, 
however,  by  a  moralist  who  is  a  Christian,  but  who  prides  himself 
on  true,  even  though  very  bold,  observation,  and  who  believes — 


140       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

such  is  his  theory  of  poetry — that  a  powerful  painter  may  paint 
everything,  and  that  his  painting  is  always  moral  enough  when  it  is 
tragic,  and  gives  a  horror  of  what  it  draws.  Now  the  author  of  this 
book,  who  believes  in  the  Devil  and  his  influence,  does  not  laugh 
about  it,  and  only  relates  these  things  to  pure  minds  to  terrify 
them.  When  any  one  has  read  these  Diaboliques,  I  do  not  believe 
he  will  feel  disposed  to  begin  them  in  reality.  Therein  lies  all  the 
morality  of  a  book.' 

But  we  repeat  that  as  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  penned  these 
tales  he  delighted  in  the  idea  of  the  scandal  they  would 
create,  and  it  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  they  are 
interesting,  as  another  example  of  the  psychological 
phenomenon  of  the  delight  obtained  from  treading  on 
forbidden  ground. 

It  is  a  moment 'of  extravagances,  and  d'Aurevilly  does 
not  hesitate  to  indulge  in  them.  His  women  are  always 
superhuman  creatures. 

In  the  first  story,  Le  Rideau  Cramoisi,  we  are  face  to  face 
with  one  of  these  ;  it  is  she  who  makes  the  first  advance, 
and  she  who  takes  all  the  risks — and  the  consequences. 
The  impression  we  carry  away  of  this  story  is  that  of 
Rops'  illustration. 

In  the  second  story,  Le  Bonheur  dans  le  Crime  \  there 
is  another  example  of  the  same  type.  This  time  it  is  a 
woman  who  takes  up  the  role  of  fencing-master  or  maid- 
servant as  occasion  arises,  till  she  can  accomplish  the 
murder  of  the  wife  of  the  man  she  loves,  and  then  live 
happily  with  him  '  ever  after.'  Or  think  of  his  Pudica 
(A  un  Diner  d^Athees)^  who  hid  the  most  refined  com- 
plication of  vice  under  the  most  innocent  exterior  ;  or  that 
other  woman  in  La  Vengeance  d'une  Femme,  who,  to  be 
revenged  on  the  husband  she  hated,  while  bearing  his 
great  name,  dragged  herself  through  the  deepest  mire 
of  shame,  and  in  dishonouring  his  name  found  her 
satisfaction. 

All  those  who  knew  d'Aurevilly  testify  to  the  blame- 


POSTERITY  141 

lessness  of  his  life — his  wickedness  was  all  pose.  M. 
Anatole  France  believes  that  when  St.  Peter  saw  him 
arrive  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  he  summed  him  up  in  these 
words  : — 

'  He  wanted  to  have  every  vice,  but  he  was  unable  to  do  so, 
because  that 's  very  difficult,  and  you  need  special  talents  for  it ;  he 
would  have  wished  to  cover  himself  with  crimes  because  crime  is 
picturesque,  but  he  remained  the  best  fellow  on  earth,  and  his  life 
was  almost  monastic.  He  said  some  horrid  things  sometimes  it 's 
true,  but  as  he  didn't  believe  them,  and  didn't  make  any  one 
else  believe  them,  it  was  never  anything  but  literature,  and  the 
fault  is  pardonable.' 

So  much  then  for  one  great  Baudelairian  feature  of 
d'Aurevilly's  writings.  There  are  others. 

Baudelaire  wrote  at  the  end  of  a  passage  on  Beauty 
(which  we  have  already  quoted) :  '  I  can  hardly  conceive 
of  a  type  of  Beauty  in  which  there  is  no  hint  of  sorrow.' 

If  d'Aurevilly  does  not  go  quite  so  far  as  this  yet,  for 
him,  too,  Beauty  is  greatly  enhanced  when  accompanied 
by  an  idea  of  the  great  mystery  of  suffering. 

'  The  mystery,  the  eternal  mystery,'  he  writes  in 
A  maidee, 1 

'  is  sorrow — that  angel  with  flaming  sword  who  drives  us  from 
the  world  to  the  desert,  from  life  to  Nature,  and  who  sits  at  the 
entrance  to  our  soul  to  prevent  us  from  entering  if  we  do  not  wish 
to  perish.' 

And  the  sign  of  this  mystery  is  one  of  the  points  of  his 
Amaidee's  beauty.  Amaidee  is  not  in  her  first  youth  : — 

'Like  ourselves  she  has  drunk  at  the  sources  of  things.  The 
first  garland  of  her  days  is  faded  and  has  fallen  into  the  torrent  that 
bears  it  away,  and  the  track  of  sorrow  is  marked  deep  on  her  brow, 
like  that  of  a  cart  which  has  passed  along  the  road.  To  me,  this 

1  Cp.  the  verse  introduction  to  this  work  : — 

'  Notre  ame  affame'e,  he"las  !  n'est  assouvie 
Que  de  souffle  et  de  pleurs  ensemble  ou  tour  a  tour.' 


142       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

attestation  writ  upon  a  face  that  life  has  not  gone  altogether  well,  is 
the  highest  beauty.  Any  woman  who  has  suffered  is  more  than  fair 
in  my  eyes.  She  is  a  Saint.  Sorrow  !  Sorrow  !  Most  marvellous 
of  spells.  You  are  mingled  with  the  one  love  of  my  soul,  in  my 
worship  of  Nature.  I  feel  more  devotion  for  her  on  those  days  when 
she  seems  to  suffer.  I  love  her  more  distressful  than  all  powerful.' 

In  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  also  we  find  once  more  a  mind 
in  no  way  impressed  by  the  modern  talk  of  progress. 

'What  is  more  absurd  than  Progress,'  he  exclaims,  'since  man,  as 
is  proved  by  everyday  facts,  always  resembles,  is  always  equal  to, 
man,  that  is  to  say,  still  in  the  savage  state.  What  are  the  perils  of 
forest  or  prairie  besides  the  daily  shocks  and  conflicts  of  civilisation? 
Whether  man  entrap  a  dupe  upon  the  boulevard,  or  run  through  his 
victim  in  unknown  forests,  is  he  not  eternally  man,  that  is  to  say, 
the  most  perfect  beast  of  prey  ? ' 

And  elsewhere  he  rails  once  more  against  this  pre- 
tension of  further  civilisation  :— 

'  Each  century  has  its  words  which  are  worn  threadbare.  The 
eighteenth  century  had  "  sensibility,"  and  you  know  how  sensible  was 
that  century  which  invented  the  guillotine  through  this  "  sensibility." 
We  who  are  more  manly,  we  have  "civilisation,"  and  we  are  civilised 
in  about  the  same  way  as  the  eighteenth-century  folk  were  sensitive.' 

A  cote  de  la  Grande  Histoire. 

In  Barbey  d'Aurevilly,  too,  we  find  a  dreamy  '  animism  ' 
which  is  again  a  Baudelairian  feature,  and  which  leads  in 
him  to  the  creation  of  some  very  beautiful  figures.  Take, 
for  example,  this  of  the  rain  in  Normandy :  '  Are  we  not 
in  Normandy,  the  fair  Pluviosa  who  has  beautiful  cold 
tears  on  her  beautiful  cool  cheeks  ?  I  have  seen  women 
weeping  like  this.'  Or  this  of  buildings:  *  What  you 
must  look  at  in  buildings  is  their  gesture.'  Or  this  of  the 
wind  in  the  trees  :  '  II  sabrait  les  ormes  avec  un  bancal  et 
leur  hachait  leur  beau  visage  de  verdure  nuancee.' 

Or,  again,  this  description  from  the  Memoranda  :— 

'  He  slashed  the  elms  with  his  sabre,  lacerating  the  fair  shadows 
of  their  green  leafy  faces.' 


POSTERITY  143 

'Went  up  to-night  to  look  at  my  old  favourite  the  St.  James's 
Bridge.  Night  is  kind  to  the  disfigured.  Turned  round  by  the 
rue  de  Bernicres  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge.  The  water  was  as 
black  as  the  water  of  a  lagoon,  and  on  this  jet  surface  trembled  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp  flickering  in  the  wind — a  star  a  hand's  breadth 
above  my  head.  The  willows  at  the  corners  of  the  bridge  drew  their 
hoods  over  their  heads  like  tired  sleepers.  Not  a  passer-by  on  the 
bridge  nor  in  the  street,  not  a  window  near  lit  up,  nothing  but 
dampness,  darkness,  immobility  and  silence.  You  heard  nothing 
save  every  now  and  then  the  crisp  click  of  the  ivory  billiard  balls 
striking  against  one  another  in  a  neighbouring  cafe.' 

The  same  happy  figures  recurred  in  his  conversation, 
such  as  those  which  M.  Anatole  France  records  :— 

'  Vous  savez  cet  homme  qui  se  met  en  espalier  sur  son  mur — 
au   soleil.'     '  Je  me  suis   enroue  en  ecoutant  cette  dame.' 
1  J'ai  aime  deux  morts  dans  ma  vie.  .  .  .' 

But  to  return  to  the  dreamy  imagination — we  find  this 
at  its  Baudelairian  height  in  those  poems  in  prose  (of 
which  the  form  is  copied  from  Baudelaire),  and  which 
d'Aurevilly  named  Rythmes  oublies.  Take,  for  instance, 
that  piece  wherein  he  develops  the  comparison  of  Insomnia 
to  two  great  eyes,  which  is  as  powerful  as  anything  in 
Poe:— 

*  It  was  one  of  those  nights  that  we  have,  you  and  I, — you  down 
in  your  solitary  cell,  oak-lined  like  a  coffin,  and  I  in  a  still  sadder 
place,  for  the  room  I  dwell  in  is  my  heart.' 

Then  Insomnia  came  and  sat  beside  him, 

*  and  began  to  watch  me  with  its  great  mournful  pale  eyes, 
those  eyes  open  so  immeasurably  wide,  which  through  some 
implacable  magnetism  dilate  the  eyes  which  look  in  them  and 
forbid  their  closing.  So  despairing  were  these  pale  eyes.  So 
despairing  and  so  fixed,  in  their  inherent  fixity  there  was  something 
so  devoured,  so  eaten  up  and  yet  so  inconsumable ;  one  felt  strongly 
that,  spite  of  their  pale  dust-like  colour,  they  burned  the  more  fiercely 
within  in  a  secret  agony,  that  one  was  really  astonished  that  Albert 
Diirer  had  not  put  a  similar  expression  on  the  forehead  of  Atlas, 
weighed  down  by  his  terrible  melancholy.' 


144       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

The  impression  becomes  so  strong  that  the  would-be 
sleeper  at  last  lights  his  lamp,  and  yet  still  he  se^s  these 
terrible  eyes  :— 

*  Dead  stars  but  still  visible,  they  remained,  tenacious  as  an  evil 
dream,  in  the  golden  light  as  well  as  in  darkness.     And  I  saw  only 
them,  and  I  forgot  to  what  head  they  belonged,  for  they  were  so 
great  they  seemed  alone!     And  I  said  to  myself  "Strange  sight! 
Is  Insomnia  then  but  the  gaze  of  two  great  eyes  ?  "     Night  passed 
on.    The  hours  fled  by — those  cowardly  Immortals  who  always  take 
to  flight,  and  as  they  leave  us  aim  a  last  Parthian  arrow  at  Our 
hearts,  already  so  full  of  them.     The  lamp  went  out,  and  in  the 
black  curtain  of  darkness  that  once  more  covered  the  walls,  the 
nocturnal  monster's  pale  eyes  opened  steadily  wider  and  wider  their 
two  vast  orbs  till  morning,  when  they  disappeared  as  if  their  ever 
widening  lids  had   rolled  .back  like   living   blinds,   one   into   the 
mournful  pink  of  the  ceiling,  the  other  into  the  threadbare  violet  of 
the  carpet.' 

And  finally  comes  the  inevitable  comparison  : — 

*  Insomnia  is  like  life,  our  nights  are  like  our  days.  .  .  .  Cameleon 
eyes  of  youth's  Insomnia,  you  are  like  the  other  inanimate  eyes  we 
contemplate  in  life,  that  long  vigil  of  day  which  is  so  slow  to  end ! ' 

And  when  life  is  not  Insomnia  it  is  but  dreams. 
D'Aurevilly  would  say  with  Maitre  Janus  of  Villiers  de 
1'Isle  Adam:  'Of  what  can  one  live  but  of  unrealised 
dreams  and  ignoble  hopes  always  deceived,'  or  in  his  own 
words  from  his  famous  Laocoon  : — 

*O  Laocoon,  Laocoon!  We  know  thee.  We  have  trembled  often 
enough  at  the  cry  of  thy  mute  bronze.  We  know  thee,  Laocoon  ! 
Art  thou  not  more  terribly  sculptured  in  our  own  flesh  than  in 
the  bronze  of  the  greatest  sculptors?  Are  we  not  all  Laocoons 
in  life  ?  Have  we  not  all  of  us  our  serpents  stealing  out  from  the 
blue  sea  to  seize  us — like  thee,  Laocoon — at  the  very  moment  of  a 
fine  sacrifice,  at  the  joyous  foot  of  some  altar?  .  .  . 

*  Our  sons,  Laocoon,  are  our  thoughts,  our  hopes,  our  dreams,  our 
love,  fallen  victims  to  destiny  before  us,  prey  of  those  dread  serpents 
who  glide  into  our  life  unnoticed  till  they  glide  into  our  hearts  and 
we  have  no  time  to  escape. 


POSTERITY  145 

'  And  to  us,  even  as  to  thee  Laocoon,  the  blood  of  our  sacrificed 
dreams  seems  more  cruel,  more  venomous  than  any  other  poison 
poured  into  our  wounds.  We  are  all  fathers  of  something  that  we 
have  to  see  die  before  us.' 

It  is  this  side  of  d'Aurevilly — the  pure  poet  apart  from 
the  novelist  or  philosopher — which  seems  to  justify  the 
words  of  Octave  Lezanne  :— 

'  D'Aurevilly  was  for  those  who  came  into  contact  with  him  the 
most  miraculous  sower  of  jewels,  and  of  beauties,  the  most  dazzling 
weaver  of  those  suns  one  had  believed  deadened.  He  was  over- 
flowing with  ideas,  paradoxes,  anecdotes,  morality,  deep  philosophy. 
How  shall  we  describe  his  influence?  He  made  one  marvel, 
astounded  one,  one  went  to  him  as  to  the  last  knight-errant  of 
literary  faith,  the  last  convinced  apostle  of  the  Religion  of  Letters.' 

M.  Bourget  in  his  penetrating  study  of  this  novelist 
writes  :  '  His  poetry  is  as  near  that  of  the  English  as  his 
Normandy  is  to  England.  I  remember,'  continues  M. 
Bourget,  '  how  on  a  journey  I  made  in  a  straight  line  from 
Caen  to  Weymouth  by  way  of  Cherbourg  in  August  1882, 
I  was  struck  by  the  extraordinary  resemblance  of  the 
scenery  in  the  two  countries.  Does  this  resemblance  ex- 
tend to  minds?  I  should  be  inclined  to  believe  it,  seeing 
how  near  the  dream  of  a  Shakespeare  or  of  a  Carlyle  is  to 
the  dream  of  a  pure  Norman  like  M.  d'Aurevilly.' 

These  lines  give  rise  to  a  kind  of  emotion  in  us — there 
is,  as  it  were,  a  pre-established  harmony,  a  kind  of  entente 
cordiale  arranged  in  the  past  ages  between  great  writers 
of  France  and  England. 


K 


146       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


III 
VERLAINE 

PAUL  VERLAINE  was  born  in  Metz  in  the  year  1844,  though 
when  he  was  seven  years  old  the  family  came  to  live  in 
Paris.  Verlaine  himself  tells  us  that  his  childhood  was 
a  happy  one.  In  his  Poetes  Maudits,  where  he  criticises 
himself  under  the  anagram  of  Pauvre  Lelian,  he  says  : 
*  Son  enfance  avait  ete  heureuse.  Des  parents  exception- 
nels,  un  pere  exquis,  une  mere  charmante  le  gataient  en 
enfant  unique  qu'il  etait.'  And  later  on  he  refers  in  verse 
to  his  childhood  : — 

' .  .  .  Mon  enfance,  elle  fut  joyeuse  ; 
Or  je  naquis  choye,  beni, 

Et  je  crus,  chair  insoucieuse 
Jusqu'au  temps  du  trouble  infini.' 

He  early  showed  a  talent  for  drawing  ('  I  was  cease- 
lessly in  pursuit  of  forms,  colours,  shadows')  and  an 
insatiable  appetite  for  reading,  devouring  every  book 
that  came  within  his  reach.  Les  Fleurs  du  Mai  he  read 
in  his  schoolroom,  hiding  the  book  under  the  lid  of  his 
desk.  He  intended  on  leaving  school  to  continue  his 
law  studies,  but  the  Bohemian  life  of  the  young  man  of 
letters  had  already  appealed  to  him,  and  by  the  time  he 
was  twenty  his  first  volume  of  poems  (Poemes  Saturniens) 
had  appeared,  and  law  was  put  aside.  For  the  next 
three  years  Verlaine  lived  a  fairly  riotous  life,  and  then 
came  a  calm  period,  when  he  fell  under  the  influence  of 
Mademoiselle  Mautet,  step-sister  of  the  musician  Charles 


POSTERITY  147 

d'lvry,  and  who  became  his  wife.  This  is  the  period  of 
the  volume  of  poems  called  La  Bonne  Chanson  of  which 
Verlaine  said,  '  I  have  always  had  a  predilection  for 
this  poor  little  volume  into  which  the  whole  of  a  purified 
heart  was  put ' ;  and  of  which  the  temper  may  be^.  judged 
by  the  following  lines  :— 

'  La  lune  blanche 
Luit  dans  les  bois, 
De  chaque  branche 
Part  une  voix 
Sous  la  ramee.3 

'  La  dure  epreuve  va  finir, 
Mon  coeur  sourit  a  1'avenir, 
Us  sont  passes,  les  jours  d'alarmes, 
Ou  j'etais  triste  jusqu'aux  larmes.' 

But  this  optimism  was  but  short  lived. 

'  Le  Bonheur  a  marche  cote  a  cote  avec  moi, 
Mais  la  Fatalite  ne  connait  point  de  treve. 
Le  ver  est  dans  le  fruit,  le  reveil  dans  le  reve 
Et  le  remords  est  dans  I'amour,  telle  est  la  loi ! ' 

Verlaine  became  compromised  with  the  Government 
for  having  helped  his  friends  during  the  Commune,  and 
was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  England.  From  there 
he  wandered  to  Belgium,  and  then,  after  a  time,  back 
to  Paris.  From  this  moment  dates  his  friendship  with 
Arthur  Rimbaud,  who,  having  twice  tramped  from 
Charleville  in  the  Ardennes  to  Paris  and  been  obliged 
to  return,  the  third  time  set  out  to  present  himself  to 
Verlaine.  The  undeniable  talent  of  the  young  author 
of  the  Bateau  Ivre,  etc.,  had  immediately  appealed  to 
Verlaine,  his  personality  no  less  so ;  the  two  became  great 
friends,  and  decided  to  travel  together.  They  set  off 
accordingly  for  Belgium,  and  it  was  in  Brussels  that  took 
place  the  violent  quarrel  between  Verlaine  and  Rimbaud 
which  led  to  police  intervention  and  the  sentence  of  two 
years'  imprisonment  passed  on  Verlaine.  It  was  during 


148       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

his  imprisonment  that  Verlaine  composed  his  '  Romances 
sans  Paroles/  perhaps  the  most  perfect  of  his  performances, 
that  most  nearly  realises  his  ideal  of  poetry  as  he  himself 
expressed  it : — 

'  De  la  Musique  avant  toute  chose, 
Et  pour  cela  prefere  1'impair 
Plus  vague  et  plus  soluble  dans  1'air, 
Sans  rien  en  lui  qui  pese  ou  qui  pose. 

II  faut  aussi  que  tu  n'ailles  point 
Choisir  les  mots  sans  quelque  meprise  : 
Rien  de  plus  cher  que  la  chanson  grise 
Ou  PIndecis  au  Precis  se  joint  .  .  . 

Car  nous  voulons  la  Nuance  encore, 
Pas  la  couleur,  rien  que  la  Nuance  ! ' 

The  famous 

'  II  pleure  dans  mon  cceur 
Comme  il  pleut  sur  la  ville,'  etc., 
or 

'  Dans  1'interminable 
Ennui  de  la  plaine 
La  neige  incertaine 
Luit  comme  du  sable. 

Le  ciel  est  de  cuivre, 
Sans  lueur  aucune ; 
On  croirait  voir  vivre 
Et  mourir  la  lune,'  etc., 

or  the  *  Poor  Young  Shepherd  '  :— 

'  J'ai  peur  d'un  baiser, 
Comme  d'une  abeille.' 

It  was  also  during  his  imprisonment  that  Verlaine 
received  the  news  of  his  wife's  separation  from  him.  On 
hearing  this,  to  quote  his  own  words, 

'  I  know  not  what  nor  who  raised  me  suddenly,  drew  me  from  my 
bed  without  giving  me  time  to  dress,  and  prostrated  me  in  tears 
at  the  foot  of  the  Crucifix.' 

This  then  is  the  period  of  his  sincere  conversion,  or 
reversion  to  Catholicism,  which  finds  expression  in  his 
'  Sagesse. ' 


POSTERITY  149 

It  was  certainly  in  prison  that  Verlaine  composed  his 
finest  work. 

In  1875  Verlaine  was  released  from  prison  and  returned 
to  France,  but  soon  left  for  England,  where  he  taught 
French  and  drawing  till  1877.  Then  he  again  returned 
to  France  and  obtained  posts  as  professor  in  various 
colleges — at  Rethel,  at  Boulogne-sur-Seine,  at  Neuilly. 
In  1884  he  published  his  prose  criticisms  Les  Poetes 
Maudits  and  another  volume  of  verse  Jadis  et  Naguere. 

He  was  now  famous,  and  things  really  looked  brighter 
for  him  till,  in  1886,  with  the  death  of  his  mother,  came  a 
return  to  the  old  Bohemian  life,  and  though  for  the  next 
ten  years  he  continued  writing,  his  circumstances  became 
steadily  darker,  and  he  only  left  one  hospital  to  enter 
another,  till  he  died,  practically  abandoned,  in  1896. 

In  his  <  Dedicace '  to  Gabriel  Vicaire,  Verlaine  pleads 
for  himself : — 

'  II  faut  n'etre  pas  dupe  en  ce  farceur  de  monde 
Ou  le  bonheur  n'a  rien  d'exquis  et  d'allechant, 
S'il  n'y  fretille  un  peu  de  pervers  et  immonde  ; 
Et  pour  n'etre  pas  dupe,  il  faut  etre  mediant.' 

And  again  : — 

'  Plaignez-moi,  car  je  suis  mauvais  et  non  me'chant.' 

His  life  was  a  series  of  contradictory  efforts  on  the  one 
hand  towards  purity,  on  the  other  towards  pleasure  ;  a 
series  of  contrasts  between  his  lofty  ideals  and  his  failure 
to  attain  them,  a  continual  duel  between  the  spirit  and 
the  flesh.  And  his  writings  are  the  record  of  these 
contrasts — offered  us  with  a  frankness  and  so  strong  a 
personal  note  as  to  compel  the  now  well-worn  comparison 
with  Villon.  And  it  is  to  the  age  of  Villon  that  Verlaine 
would  revert.  In  his  '  Sagesse '  he  takes  up  the  considera- 
tion of  the  ideal  age : — 

'  Sagesse  d'un  Louis  Racine,  je  t'envie  ! 
O  n'avoir  pas  suivi  les  lemons  de  Rollin, 
N'etre  pas  ne  dans  le  grand  siecle  a  son  declin, 
Quand  le  soleil  couchant  si  beau  dorait  la  vie. 


150       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Quand  Maintenon  jetait  sur  la  France  ravie 
L'ombre  douce  et  la  paix  de  ses  coiffes  de  lin, 
Et  royale  abritait  la  veuve  et  1'orphelin, 
Quand  1'etude  de  la  priere  etait  suivie  ; — 

But  on  consideration  he  finds  after  all  his  ideal  is  not 
here  but  further  away  still. 

*  Non.     II  fat  gallican,  ce  siecle,  et  jansdniste  ! 
C'est  vers  le  moyen  age,  dnorme  et  delicat, 
Qu'il  faudrait  que  mon  cceur  en  partie  naviguat, 
Loin  de  nos  jours  d'esprit  charnel  et  de  chair  triste.' 

Or  take  '  Un  Conte,'  from  the  collection  named  Amour  :— 

UN   CONTE 

'  Simplement,  comme  on  verse  un  parfum  sur  une  flamme, 
Et  comme  un  soldat  repand  son  sang  pour  la  patrie, 
Je  voudrais  pouvoir  mettre  mon  coeur  avec  mon  ame 
Dans  un  beau  cantique  a  la  Sainte  Vierge  Marie. 

Mais  je  suis,  helas  !  un  pauvre  pecheur  trop  indigne, 
Ma  voix  hurlerait  parmi  le  chceur  des  voix  des  justes  : 
Ivre  encore  du  vin  amer  de  la  terrestre  vigne, 
Elle  pourrait  offenser  des  oreilles  augustes.3 

Or  the  '  Angelus  de  Midi,'  from  the  same  volume  : — 

'  Je  suis  dur  comme  un  juif  et  tetu  comme  lui, 
Litteral,  ne  faisant  le  bien  qu'avec  ennui, 
Quand  je  le  fais  et  pret  a  tout  le  mal  possible. 

Mon  esprit  s'ouvre  et  s'offre,  on  dirait  une  cible  ; 
Je  ne  puis  plus  compter  les  chutes  de  mon  cceur ; 
La  charitd  se  fane  aux  doigts  de  la  langueur  ; 

L'ennui  m'investit  d'un  fosse'  d'eau  dormante  ; 
Un  parti  de  mon  etre  a  peur  et  parlemente  ; 
II  me  faut  a  tout  prix  un  secours  prompt  et  fort. 

Ce  fort  secours,  c'est  vous,  maitresse  de  la  mort 
Et  reine  de  la  vie,  o  Vierge  immacule'e.  .  .  .' 

The  most  complete  expression  of  this  temper  is  found 
in  those  beautiful  lines  from  *  Sagesse  '  :— 

*  O  mon  Dieu,  vous  m'avez  blessd  d'amour, 
Et  la  blessure  est  encore  vibrante, 
O  mon  Dieu,  vous  m'avez  blesse  d'amour. 


POSTERITY  151 

Voici  mon  coeur  qui  n'a  battu  qu'en  vain, 
Pour  palpiter  aux  ronces  du  Calvaire, 
Voici  mon  coeur  qui  n'a  battu  qu'en  vain. 

Voici  mes  yeux,  luminaires  d'erreur 
Pour  etre  eteints  aux  pleurs  de  la  priere 
Voici  mes  yeux,  luminaires  d'erreur. 

Dieu  de  terreur  et  Dieu  de  Saintete, 
Helas  !  ce  noir  abime  de  mon  crime, 
Dieu  de  terreur  et  Dieu  de  Saintete. 

Vous,  Dieu  de  paix,  de  joie  et  de  bonheur, 
Toutes  mes  peurs,  toutes  mes  ignorances, 
Vous,  Dieu  de  paix,  de  joie  et  de  bonheur. 

Vous  connaissez  tout  cela,  tout  cela, 

Et  que  je  suis  plus  pauvre  que  personne. 

Vous  connaissez  tout  cela,  tout  cela, 

Mais  ce  que  j'ai,  mon  Dieu,  je  vous  le  donne.' 

And  this  is  the  reward  : — 

'  Et  pour  recompenser  ton  zele  en  ces  devoirs 
Si  doux  qu'ils  sont  encore  d'ineffables  devices, 
Je  te  ferai  gouter  sur  terre  mes  premices, 
La  paix  du  cosur,  1'amour  d'etre  pauvre,  et  mes  soirs 

Mystiques,  quand  1'esprit  s'ouvre  aux  calmes  espoirs 
Et  croit  boire  suivant  ma  promesse,  au  Calice 
Eternel,  et  qu'au  ciel  pieux  la  lune  glisse, 
Et  que  sonnent  les  angelus  roses  et  noirs, 

En  attendant  1'assomption  dans  ma  lumiere, 
L'eveil  sans  fin  dans  ma  charite  coutumiere, 
La  musique  de  mes  louanges  a  jamais, 

Et  1'extase  perpe'tuelle  et  la  science, 

Et  d'etre  en  moi  parmi  Paimable  irradiance 

De  tes  souffrances,  enfin  miennes,  que  j'aimais  !  .  .  . 

J'ai  1'extase  et  j'ai  la  terreur  d'etre  choisi  ; 

Je  suis  indigne,  mais  je  sais  votre  clemence. 

Ah  !  quel  effort,  mais  quelle  ardeur  !  Et  me  voici, 

Plein  d'une  humble  priere,  encor  qu'un  trouble  immense 

Brouille  1'espoir  que  votre  voix  me  revela, 

Et  j'aspire  en  tremblant. — Pauvre  ame,  c'est  cela  ! ' 


152       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

In  the  very  contemplation  of  his  ideal  Verlaine  does 
not  forget  his  own  weakness,1  as  he  says  in  his 
'  Paraboles '  :— 

'  Soyez  beni,  Seigneur,  qui  m'avez  fait  Chretien 
Dans  ces  temps  de  feroce  ignorance  et  de  haine, 
Mais  donnez-moi  la  force  et  Paudace  sereine 
De  vous  etre  a  toujours  fidele  comme  un  chien.' 

And  in  this  same  humour  he  finds  consolation  in  the 
idea  of  the  sublimity  of  suffering  : — 

'  N'as  tu  pas  Pesperance 

De  la  fidelity 
Et  pour  plus  d'assurance 

Dans  la  securite' 

N'as  tu  pas  la  souffrance  ? ' — Sagesse  XXII. 
Or  this  :— 

'  L'ame  antique  dtait  rude  et  vaine, 
Et  ne  voyait,  dans  la  douleur, 
Que  Pacuite  de  la  peine, 
Ou  Pe'tonnement  du  malheur. 

L'art,  sa  figure  la  plus  claire, 
Traduit  ce  double  sentiment 
Par  deux  grands  types  de  la  Mere 
En  proie  au  supreme  tourment.  .  .  . 

La  douleur  chre'tienne  est  immense, 
Elle,  comme  le  coeur  humain. 
Elle  souffre,  puis  elle  pense, 
Et  calme  poursuit  son  chemin.   .  .  . 

Elle  participe  au  supplice 
Qui  sauve  toute  nation, 
Attendrissant  le  sacrifice 
Par  sa  vaste  compassion.3 

Suffering  then  is  the  great  healer,  only  with  it  hope 
must  go  hand  in  hand  : — 

'  Surtout  il  faut  garder  toute  esperance.' 

It  is  the  Nietzschean  cry  :  *  By  my  faith  and  love  I  con- 
jure you  maintain  holy  your  highest  hope.' 

1  Amour,  1888. 


POSTERITY  153 

This  is  the  ideal  mood.  Then  there  is  the  reverse  of 
the  medal ;  he  is  led  into  trouble  by  his  'old  accomplice/ 
his  own  weakness  :— 

1  J'ai  la  fureur  d'aimer.     Mon  cceur  si  faible  est  foil 
N'importe  quand,  n'importe  quel,  et  n'importe  ou, 
Qu'un  eclair  de  beaute,  de  vertu,  de  vaillance 
Luise,  il  s'y  precipite,  il  y  vole,  il  s'y  lance.' 

The  conclusion  of  this  is  practically  an  acknowledgment 
of  defeat : — 

'J'ai  la  fureur  d'aimer.     Qu'y  faire  ?    Ah  !  laisser  faire.' 
Or  take  this  from  Birds  in  the  Night : — 

ROMANCES   SANS   PAROLES 

'  Par  instants  je  suis  le  pauvre  navire 
Qui  court,  demate,  parmi  la  tempete, 
Et  ne  voyant  pas  Notre  Dame  luire 
Pour  Pengouffrement  en  priant  s'apprete. 

Par  instants  je  meurs  la  mort  du  pecheur 
Qui  se  salt  damne  s'il  n'est  confess^, 
Et  perdant  Pespoir  de  nul  confesseur 
Se  tord  dans  1'Enfer  qu'il  a  devance. 

O  mais  !  par  instants,  j'ai  1'extase  rouge 
Du  premier  chretien  sous  la  dent  rapace, 
Qui  rit  a  Jesus  temoin,  sans  que  bouge 
Un  poll  de  sa  chair,  un  nerf  de  sa  face  ! ' 

And  since  he  is  sincere,  it  is  this  weakness,  this  continual 
falling  short  of  the  ideal  that  causes  his  suffering. 

1  Mon  cceur  est  un  troupeau  dissipd  par  1'autan, 
Mais  qui  se  reunit  quand  le  vrai  Berger  siffle, 
Et  que  le  bon  vieux  chien,  Sergent  ou  Remords,  gifle 
D'une  dent  suffisante  et  dure  assez  1'engeance.  .  .  . ' 

Liturgies  intimes :  Final. 

*  Car  vraiment  j'ai  souffert  beaucoup, 
De'busque,  traque  comme  un  loup, 
Qui  n'en  peut  plus,  d'errer  en  chasse 
Du  bon  repos,  du  siir  abri, 
Et  qui  fait  des  bonds  de  cabri 
Sous  les  coups  de  toute  une  race.' 

Amour:  Lucien  Letinois  II. 


154       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  he  falls  into  despair  : — 

'  Je  ne  peux  plus  compter  les  chutes  de  mon  cceur.' 
And  again  : — 

'  Je  suis  1'empire  a  la  fin  de  la  decadence 
Qui  regarde  passer  les  grands  barbares  blancs. 
Ah  !  tout  est  bu,  tout  est  noye,  plus  rien  a  dire.' 

And  finally  he  describes  himself  as 

*  Lasse  de  vivre,  ayant  peur  de  mourir,  pareille 
Au  brick  perdu,  jouet  du  flux  et  du  reflux, 
Mon  ame  pour  d'affreux-  naufrages  appareille.' 

Verlaine  would  thus  appear  to  have  no  illusions  about 
himself — that  is  a  saddening  factor. 

In  these  two  opposing  moods,  Verlaine  saw  no  contra- 
diction. He  treats  the  subject  in  his  criticism  of  himself, 
noting  the  two  divisions  : — 

'  On  the  one  hand  verse  or  prose  in  which  Catholicism  spreads 
out  its  logic,  its  blandishments  and  its  terrors,  and  those  "horrors" 
of  which  Bossuet  speaks;  on  the  other  hand  purely  worldly 
productions,  which  are  sensual,  with  a  hint  of  evil  irony  and  a  more 
than  skin-deep  "  Sadism."  It  will  be  asked :  "  What  becomes  of 
unity  of  thought  in  all  this  ?  "  But  it  is  there  !  It  is  there  in  the 
Catholic  standpoint, — in  the  human  standpoint,  which  for  us  is  the 
same  thing.  I  believe,  and  I  sin  in  thought  as  in  action ;  I  believe, 
and  I  repent  in  thought.  Or  else  I  believe,  and  the  next  minute  I 
am  a  bad  Christian.  The  recollection  of,  hope  for,  invocation  of  a 
sin,  interest  me  with  or  without  remorse,  sometimes  under  the  very 
form  of  sin,  and  most  frequently  fortified  with  all  the  consequences 
of  sin,  so  strong,  natural,  animal  are  flesh  and  blood.  It  pleases 
you  and  me  and  the  writer  to  put  down  on 'paper  this  interest,  and 
to  publish  it  more  or  less  well  expressed ;  we  consign  it  to  literary 
form,  either  forgetting  all  religious  ideas,  or  not  losing  sight  of  a 
single  one  of  them.  Should  we  be  condemned  as  a  poet?  A 
hundred  times,  No ! 

'Whether  the  Catholic  conscience  reason  in  this  way  or  no, 
has  nothing  to  do  with  us.  Now,  do  the  Catholic  poems  of  Pauvre 
Lelian,  from  the  literary  point  of  view,  cover  the  other  poems,  and 


POSTERITY  155 

vice  versa,  and  do  the  two  groups  form  one  homogeneous  group  ?  A 
hundred  times,  Yes.  The  tone  is  the  same  in  both — so  is  the  style, 
the  manner,  the  attitude.  Now  solemn  and  simple,  now  elaborate, 
languid,  nervous,  gay — everything,  but  the  same  tone  throughout, 
just  as  man,  mystic  and  sensualist,  remains  intellectually  man  in  all 
the  varied  manifestations  of  one  thought  which  has  its  ups  and 
downs.  And  our  author  was  free  to  write  volumes  which  are  solely 
of  prayer  at  the  same  time  as  volumes  which  are  solely  impressions, 
just  as  the  contrary  would  be  allowable.' 

This  conception  of  life  as  a  continual  duel  between  the 
Ideal  and  the  Real  is  essentially  Baudelairian. 

This  is  what  Charles  Morice  means  when  he  says  that 
Verlaine  presupposes  Baudelaire. 

There  are  indeed  from  the  Poemes  Saturniens  onwards 
distinct  traces  of  the  influence  that  clandestine  reading  of 
the  Fleurs  du  Mai  produced  on  the  mind  of  Verlaine. 
Take,  for  instance,  from  the  Poemes  Saturniens  the  *  Effet 
de  Nuit'  (as  Villonesque  as  it  is  Baudelairian),  or  the 
4  Rossignol,'  which  compels  comparison  with  Baudelaire's 
4  Correspondances.' 

EFFET   DE   NUIT 

*  La  nuit.     La  pluie.     Un  ciel  blafard  qui  dechiquette 
De  fleches  et  de  tours  a  jour  la  silhouette 
D'une  vieille  ville  gothique  eteinte  au  lointain  gris. 
La  plaine.     Un  gibet  plein  de  pendus  rabougris 
Secoues  par  le  bee  avide  des  corneilles, 
Et  dansant  dans  1'air  noir  des  gigues  non  pareilles, 
Tandis  que  leurs  pieds  sont  la  pature  des  loups. 
Quelques  buissons  d'epine  epars,  et  quelques  houx 
Dressant  1'horreur  de  leur  feuillage  a  droite,  a  gauche, 
Sur  le  fuligineux  fouillis  d'un  fond  d'ebauche, 
Et  puis,  autour  de  trois  livides  prisonniers 
Qui  vont  pieds  nus,  un  gros  de  hauts  pertuisaniers 
En  marche,  et  leurs  fers  droits,  comme  des  fers  de  herse, 
Luisent  a  contresens  des  lances  de  1'averse.' 

LE  ROSSIGNOL 

*  Comme  un  vol  criard  d'oiseaux  en  emoi, 
Tous  mes  souvenirs  s'abattent  sur  moi, 


156       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

S'abattent  parmi  le  feuillage  jaune 

De  mon  cceur  mirant  son  tronc  plie  d'aune 

Au  tain  violet  de  1'eau  des  Regrets 

Qui  me'lancoliquement  coule  aupres, 

S'abattent,  et  puis  la  rumeur  mauvaise 

Qu'une  brise  moite  en  montant  apaise, 

S'eteint  par  degres  dans  1'arbre,  si  bien 

Qu'au  bout  d'un  instant  on  n'entend  plus  rien. 

Plus  rien  que  la  voix  celebrant  1'Absente, 

Plus  rien  que  la  voix — 6  si  languissante  ! — 

De  1'oiseau  qui  fut  mon  Premier  Amour, 

Et  qui  chante  encof  comme  au  premier  jour  ; 

Et  dans  sa  splendeur  triste  d'une  lune 

Se  levant  blafarde  et  solennelle,  une 

Nuit  me'lancolique  et  lourde  d'dte, 

Pleine  de  silence  et  d'obscurite, 

Berce  sur  1'azur  qu'un  vent  doux  effleure 

L'arbre  qui  frissonne  et  1'oiseau  qui  pleure. ' 

Here  is  a  Baudelairian  passage l  from  '  Sagesse '  :— 

*  Le  son  du  cor  s'afflige  vers  les  bois 
D'une  douleur  on  veut  croire  orpheline, 
Qui  vient  mourir  au  bas  de  la  colline 
Parmi  la  bise  errant  en  courts  abois. 

L'ame  du  loup  pleure  dans  cette  voix 
Qui  monte  avec  le  soleil  qui  decline, 
D'une  agonie  on  veut  croire  caline 
Et  qui  ravit  et  qui  navre  h.  la  fois. 

Pour  faire  mieux  cette  plainte  assoupie, 
La  neige  tombe  a  longs  traits  de  charpie 
A  travers  le  couchant  sanguin. 

Et  Pair  a  1'air  d'etre  un  soupir  d'automne, 
Tant  il  fait  doux  par  ce  soir  monotone 
Ou  se  dorlote  un  paysage  lent.' 

And  this  passage, 

'  Bon  chevalier  masqud  qui  chevauche  en  silence 
Le  malheur  a  perce  mon  vieux  coeur  de  sa  lance. 

Le  sang  de  mon  vieux  coeur  n'a  fait  qu'un  jet  vermeil, 
Puis  s'est  evapore  sur  les  fleurs  au  soleil. 

1  Cp.  Baudelaire,  '  Correspondances. ' 


POSTERITY  157 

L'ombre  eteignit  mes  yeux,  un  cri  vint  a  ma  bouche 
Et  mon  coeur  est  mort  dans  un  frisson  farouche. 

Alors  le  Malheur  s'est  rapproche, 

II  a  mis  pied  a  terre  et  sa  main  m'a  touche. 

Son  doigt  gante  de  fer  entra  dans  ma  blessure, 
Tandis  qu'il  attestait  sa  loi  d'une  voix  dure,' 

which  in  its  Baudelairism  recalls  the  manner  of  Petrus 
Borel's  Introduction  to  Madame  Putiphar. 
And  the  opening  of  the  volume, 

'  Lecteur  paisible  et  bucolique 
Sobre,  nai'f  homme  de  bien, 
Jette  ce  livre  saturnien, 
Orgiaque  et  melancolique ' 

seems    borrowed    from     the    epigraphs    pour    un     livre 
condamne. 

The  Baudelairian  doctrine  of  '  Correspondances '  is  a 
strong  note  in  the  '  Romances  sans  Paroles.'  And  again 
this  from  the  Jadis  et  Naguere  : — 

'  Chair.     O  seul  fruit  mordu  des  vergers  d'ici-bas 
Fruit  amer  et  sucre  qui  jutes  aux  dents  seules 
Des  affames  du  seul  amour,  bouches  ou  gueules, 
Et  bon  dessert  des  forts,  et  leur  joyeux  repas. 
\ 

Amour !  le  seul  emoi  de  ceux  que  n'emeut  pas 
L'horreur  de  vivre,  amour  qui  presse  sous  tes  meules 
Les  scrupules  des  libertins  et  des  begueules 
Pour  le  pain  des  damnes  qu'elisent  les  sabbats. 

Amour,  tu  m'apparais  aussi  comme  un  beau  patre 

Dont  reve  la  fileuse  assise  aupres  de  Patre 

Les  soirs  d'hiver  dans  la  chaleur  d'un  sarment  clair. 

Et  la  fileuse  c'est  la  Chair,  et  1'heure  tinte 

Ou  le  reve  etendra  la  reveuse — heure  sainte 

Ou  non  !  qu'importe  a  votre  extase,  Amour  et  Chair  ? ' 

But  to  consider  the  resemblances — Verlaine  himself 
describes  the  most  important  in  the  Preface  to  his  Liturgies 
Intimes :  A  Charles  Baudelaire. 


158       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

*  Je  ne  t'ai  pas  connu,  je  ne  t'ai  pas  aime, 
Je  ne  te  connais  point  et  je  t'aime  encor  moins, 
Je  me  chargerais  mal  de  ton  nom  diffame 
Et  si  j'ai  quelque  droit  d'etre  entre  tes  temoins, 

C'est  que  d'abord  et  c'est  que  d'ailleurs  vers  les  Pieds  joints 
D'abord  par  les  clous  froids  puis  par  1'elan  pame 
Des  femmes  de  peche  desquelles,  6  tant  oints 
Tant  baises,  chreme  fol  et  baiser  affame  ! — 

Tu  tombas,  tu  prias  comme  moi,  comme  toutes 
Les  ames  que  la  faim  et  la  soif  sur  tes  routes 
Poussaient  belles  d'espoir  au  Calvaire  touche  ! ' 

The  influence  of  Baudelaire  is  apparent  again  in  that 
artifice  which  Verlaine  copied  from  the  elder  poet,  and 
which  so  many  have  in  their  turn  copied — that  of  com- 
paring his  soul,  his  mind,  which  is  entirely  abstract,  with 
a  landscape — that  is,  with  something  concrete.  Thus  he 
writes  in  the  Fetes  Galantes : 

'  Votre  ame  est  un  paysage  choisi 
Que  vont  charmant  masques  et  bergamasques.  .  .  .' 

Clair  de  Lune. 
In  the  same  way  Samain  will  say  : — 

'  Mon  ame  est  une  infante  en  robe  de  parade.' 

It  is  here  that  we  see  the  birth  of  the  Symbolist  school. 
In  the  same  way  Moreas  will  make  these  Baudelairian 
comparisons : — 

*  Mon  cceur  est  un  cercueil  vide  dans  une  tombe 
Mon  ame  est  un  manoir  hante  par  les  corbeaux.' 

Les  Syrtes. 

All  that  the  symbolists  have  to  do  is  to  suppress  the 
abstract  word — the  first  term  of  the  comparison. 

Verlaine  has  none  of  Baudelaire's  pose  ;  he  laid  down 
his  canons  of  art — 

*  L'art  tout  d'abord  doit  etre  et  paraitre  sincere 
L'art,  mes  enfants,  c'est  d'etre  absolument  soi-meme,' 

— canons  which  are  decisively  un-Baudelairian  and  which 


POSTERITY  159 

Verlaine  most  certainly  fulfilled.  He  is  always  simple, 
always  sincere  and  quite  without  any  desire  to  mystify  us. 
Where  Baudelaire  becomes  bitter,  Verlaine  is  only  sad, 
and  he  has  none  of  Baudelaire's  love  of  wrongdoing  qua 
wrongdoing.  As  Charles  Morice  well  remarked,  Baude- 
laire loved  thefemmes  damnees  merely  in  so  far  as  they 
are  such  ;  he  carried  Sadism  to  the  point  of  requiring  a 
hint  of  baseness  to  compose  attraction,  whereas  Verlaine 
sought  even  in  wickedness  to  discover  something  tender 
and  beautiful  for  consolation. 

*  Even  for  the  terror  of  religion  he  invents  a  tenderness,  without 
robbing  it  of  any  of  its  force  and  sublimity ;  he  lends  graciousness  to 
Grace,  and  all  life  would  be  a  lasting  festival  for  him,  could  he  but 
celebrate  the  final  reconciliation  of  the  seven  deadly  sins  and  the 
three  theological  Virtues.'1 

This  refers  to  the  Crimen  Amoris,  that  long  poem  in 
which  Verlaine  would  present  Hell  seeking  to  sacrifice 
itself  for  Universal  Love — together  with  the  poet's  hope 
that  his  desires  may  be  annihilated  since  they  wreck  all 
his  efforts  towards  the  Ideal.  But  *  the  sacrifice  was  not 
accepted.' 

Here  Verlaine  goes  further  than  Baudelaire,  though  he 
is,  as  a  rule,  far  more  simple  than  Baudelaire. 

Verlaine  is  one  of  those  curious  cases  who,  set  them  as 
often  as  you  will  on  the  path,  seem  infallibly  to  drift 
toward  the  gutter.  The  pity  of  it  is  that  a  great  poet  was 
there  ;  it  is  proved  when  Verlaine  was  imprisoned. 

His  collected  works  form  four  large  volumes.  He  fell 
into  the  danger  which  besets  your  purely  personal  poet,2 
and  recorded  many  of  his  experiences  that  were  better 
unrecorded ;  but  when  all  is  said,  and  these  are  winnowed, 
there  remains  in  those  volumes  some  of  the  greatest 
poetry  ever  written. 

1  Charles  Morice  :  Paul  Verlaine,  1888. 

2  He  himself  said  of  his  Bonheur,  and  the  saying  holds  good  for  his  whole 
work  :  '  There  is  no  page  of  this  book  which  has  not  been  lived. ' 


i6o       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


IV 
TRISTAN  CORBIERE 

EDOUARD  JOACHIM  CORBIERE,  who  later  preferred  to  be 
known  by  the  more  romantic  name  of  Tristan  Corbiere, 
was  a  Breton,  born  at  Morlaix  in  1845. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  already  showed  signs  of  con- 
sumption, and  also  of  a  peculiarly  blase  temperament.  It 
was  in  consideration  of  these  two  facts  that  his  father 
encouraged  his  love  of  the  sea  by  building  him  a  sloop. 
And,  indeed,  on  the  sea,  Corbiere  could  always  discover 
the  ecstasy  of  life — the  sea  was  his  great,  his  only  passion. 

In  1873  he  came  to  Paris,  where  he  wrote  for  La  Vie 
Parisienne,  and  indulged  his  taste  for  draughtsmanship. 
We  know  very  little  of  his  life  in  Paris  ;  there  are  practi- 
cally no  documents  to  help  us.  His  object  seems  to  have 
been  to  lead  a  l  Baudelairian  '  life  ;  his  actions  appear  as 
one  continual  struggle  after  originality.  He  was  another 
des  Esseintes — sleeping  all  day  and  breakfasting  at  mid- 
night,— and  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  remaining  incurably 
bored,  and  as  a  true  Baudelairian  wearing  his  rue  of 
boredom  with  a  difference. 

4  Dans  mes  degouts  surtout  j'ai  des  gouts  eldgants,' 

he  says  in  his  Poete  contumace. 

His  Bohemian  existence  certainly  hastened  his  end  ;  he 
in  no  way  deceived  himself  in  this  matter,  but  withdrew 
to  his  native  Morlaix,  where  he  died  in  March  1875. 

Corbiere  must  be  placed  among  those  minds  it  is  impos- 


POSTERITY  161 

sible  to  class.  Indefinable,  elusive,  his  poems  are  just 
the  fluttering  drapery  of  ideas  which  more  often  than  not 
baffle  our  efforts  to  grasp  the  body  of  intention  under- 
neath. He  carries  the  Baudelairian  ideal  of  suggestion 
to  its  highest  pitch. 

1  Faisant  d'un  a  peu  pres  d'artiste, 
Un  philosophe  d'a  peu  pres, 
Raleur  de  soleil  ou  de  frais, 
En  dehors  de  1'humaine  piste.' 

Jules  Laforgue  said  of  Corbiere  that  he  had  no  theories, 
no  aesthetic.  But  there  is  a  hint  of  spite  in  Laforgue's 
severity,  and  we  can  suspect  the  reason  of  it.  Leo  Treznik, 
a  friend  of  Corbiere,  had  suggested  in  the  Lutece  that 
Laforgue  was  merely  a  disciple  of  Corbiere.  Laforgue  at 
once  replied  (in  the  Lutece  of  the  4th  October  1885)  that 
he  had  left  his  '  Complaints '  with  the  publisher  Vanier 
six  months  before  the  publication  of  Verlaine's  Poetes 
Maudits. 

Corbiere's  Les  amours  jaunes  had  been  published  in 
Paris  in  a  limited  edition  of  481  copies  by  Glady  in  1873, 
but  at  first  did  not  sell,  and  lay  about  in  the  bookshops 
till  Verlaine  discovered  them  and  placed  Corbiere  among 
his  Poetes  Maudits  (1884). 

Thus  it  would  appear  to  be  through  Verlaine  that 
Laforgue  learnt  of  the  existence  of  Tristan  Corbiere. 
Laforgue  seems  to  have  always  borne  Corbiere  some 
malice  on  account  of  being  considered  his  disciple,  and, 
in  his  article  on  this  poet,  he  really  gives  too  free  a  rein 
to  his  feelings,  declaring  that  there  is 

'  no  poetry,  no  verse,  hardly  literature — a  craft  without  any  plastic 
interest — the  interest  lies  in  the  lashing,  the  dry  point,  the  punning, 
the  frisking,  the  romantic  scamping.' 

Doubtless  poets  are  not  in  the  habit  of  sparing  one 
another,  but  this  ill-nature  towards  a  poet,  like  himself, 
consumptive,  suggests  that  Laforgue  felt  that  Treznik's 

L 


162       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

article  had  hit  its  mark.  Indeed,  Laforgue's  blague, 
that  irony  turned  against  himself,  strongly  resembles 
Corbiere's  attitude.  (Let  us  remember,  too,  that  Corbiere 
died  of  consumption  at  the  age  of  thirty,  and  Laforgue  of 
the  same  disease  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven.) 

Corbiere  has  all  the  Baudelairian  habit  of  seizing  upon 
the  disquieting  aspect  of  things — a  temper  which  we 
shall  meet  again  in  Rollinat. 

Take,  for  instance,  this  poem  : — 

LE  CRAPAUD 

'  Un  chant  dans  une  nuit  sans  air.  .  .  . 
La  lune  plaque  en  metal  clair 
Les  decoupures  du  vert  sombre. 

.  .  .  Un  chant ;  comme  un  dcho,  tout  vif 

Enterre',  la,  sous  le  massif.  .  .  . 

— Qa  se  tait :  Viens,  c'est  la  dans  1'ombre.  .  .  . 

— Un  crapaud  ! — Pourquoi  cette  peur, 
Pres  de  moi,  ton  soldat  fidele  ! 
Vois-le,  poete  tondu,  sans  aile 
Rossignol  de  la  boue.  .  .  .  Horreur  ! — 

II  chante.     Horreur  ! — Horreur,  pourquoi  ? 
Vois-tu  pas  son  ceil  de  lumiere.  .  .  . 
Non  :  il  s'en  va,  froid,  sous  sa  pierre. 

Bonsoir — ce  crapaud-la  c'est  moi.' 
We  quote  from  the  epitaph  he  composed  for  himself : — 

'  Coureur  d'ide'al— sans  idee, 
Rime  riche, — et  jamais  rime*e, 
Sans  avoir  etc, — revenu, 
Se  retrouvant  partout  perdu. 

Poete  en  de'pit  de  ses  vers, 
Artiste  sans  art, — a  1'envers, 
Philosophe, — a  tort  a  travers. 
Un  drole  serieux— pas  drole, 
Acteur,  il  ne  sut  pas  son  role  ; 
Peintre  :  il  jouait  de  la  musette  ; 
Et  musicien  :  de  la  palette.  . 


.  POSTERITY  163 

Ne  fut  quelqu'un,  ni  quelque  chose  : 
Son  nature!  etait  la  pose.  .  .  . 

Trop  Soi  pour  se  pouvoir  souffrir, 
L'esprit  a  sec  et  la  tete  ivre, 
Fini,  mais  ne  sachant  finir, 
II  mourut  en  s'attendant  vivre 
Et  vecut,  s'attendant  mourir.' 

Like  Baudelaire  in  the  Fanfarlo^  he  likes  to  pose  as 
Lhomme  des  belles  osuvres  ratees.  The  same  temper 
breathes  in  these  lines  from  *  Decourageux ' : — 

'  Ce  fut  un  vrai  poete  :  il  n'avait  pas  de  chant. 
Mort,  il  aimait  le  jour  et  dedaigna  de  geindre. 
Peintre  :  il  aimait  son  art — II  oublia  de  peindre.  .  .  . 
II  voyait  trop.     Et  voir  est  un  aveuglement.  .  .  . 

— Pur  heros  de  roman  :  il  adorait  la  brune, 

Sans  voir  s'elle  £tait  blonde.  ...  II  adorait  la  lune  ; 

Mais  il  n'aima  jamais.     II  n'avait  pas  le  temps. 

— Chercheur  infatigable  :  Ici  bas  ou  1'on  rame, 
II  regardait  ramer,  du  haut  de  sa  grande  ame, 
Fatigue  de  pitie  pour  ceux  qui  ramaient  bien.  .  .  .' 

And  again  here  :— 

'  L'ideal  a  moi :  c'est  un  songe 
Creux  ;  mon  horizon — 1'imprevu — 
Et  le  mal  du  pays  me  ronge.  .  .  . 
Du  pays  que  je  n'ai  pas  vu. 

Je  suis  le  fou  de  Pampelune 
J'ai  peur  du  rire  de  la  Lune, 
Cafarde  avec  son  crepe  noir.  .  .  . 
Horreur  !  tout  est  done  sous  un  eteignoir. 

J'entends  comme  un  bruit  de  crecelle.  .  .  . 

C'est  la  male  heure  qui  m'appelle. 

Dans  le  creux  des  nuits  tombe  :  un  glas  .  .  .  deux  glas. 

J'ai  compte  plus  de  quatorze  heures — 

L'heure  est  une  larme — Tu  pleures, 

Mon  coeur  !  .  .  .  Chante  encor,  va — ne  compte  pas.' 

Tristan  Corbiere  is  the  type  of  the  writer  who  makes 
mock  of  his  own  feelings — the  better  to  torture  himself. 


164       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

To  show  that  the  poet  is  no  one's  dupe — least  of  all  his 
own — that  is  the  aim  of  such  poets  as  Corbiere,  Laforgue, 
and  Charles  Cros. 

The  poems  of  this  last  bohemian  and  whimsical  poet, 
collected  in  Le  Coffret  de  Santal  and  Le  Collier  de  Perles, 
also  show  the  influence  of  Baudelaire — with  all  their  love 
of  the  artificial,  of  the  oriental,  and  of  opium. 

These  charming  lines  from  the  Coffret  de  Santal  are 
absolutely  Baudelairian  : — 

*  Elle  avait  de  beaux  cheveux  blonds 
Comme  une  moisson  d'aout,  si  longs 
Qu'il  lui  tombaient  jusqu'aux  talons. 
Elle  avait  une  voix  etrange, 
Musicale,  de  fee  ou  d'ange, 
Des  yeux  verts  sur  leur  noire  frange.' 


POSTERITY  165 


HUYSMANS 

HUYSMANS  with  his  bitterness,  his  restlessness,  his  sus- 
tained repugnance  for  his  own  thought,  his  general  dis- 
gust of  everything,  is  a  direct  descendant  of  Baudelaire. 

'  Amabam  amare'  quotes  Sainte-Beuve  for  his  own  case, 
— for  Huysmans,  it  is  the  only  occupation.  That  is  why 
Huysmans  the  critic  is  so  much  more  interesting  than 
Huysmans  the  pure  novelist.1  The  critic  becomes 
absorbed  from  time  to  time  in  the  masterpieces  he 
observes,  and  a  sincere  note  of  enthusiasm  will  creep  in  ; 
but  the  novelist  has  only  one  attitude — profoundest  ennui. 
Therein  lies  the  weakness — the  work  is  all  negative. 
There  is  only  degout  de  la  vie;  we  miss  the  pendant  extase 
de  la  vie  which  we  naturally  demand. 

Mr.  Symons  has  made  a  portrait  of  Huysmans  which 
is  just  that  which  we  should  make  for  ourselves,  having 
only  his  early  works  to  go  upon  : — 

'  Perhaps  it  is  only  a  stupid  book  that  some  one  has  mentioned, 
or  a  stupid  woman ;  as  he  speaks  the  book  looms  up  before  one, 
becomes  monstrous  in  its  dulness,  a  masterpiece  and  miracle  of 
imbecility ;  the  unimportant  little  woman  grows  into  a  slow  horror 
before  your  eyes.  It  is  always  the  unpleasant  aspect  of  things  that 
he  seizes,  but  the  intensity  of  his  revolt  from  the  unpleasantness 
brings  a  touch  of  the  sublime  into  the  very  intensity  of  his  disgust. 
Every  sentence  is  an  epigram,  and  every  epigram  slaughters  a 

1  In  contradistinction  to  the  psychological  interest  which  develops  with  the 
later  work. 


166       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

reputation  or  an  idea.  He  speaks  with  an  accent  as  of  pained 
surprise,  an  amused  look  of  contempt  so  profound  that  it  becomes 
almost  pity  for  human  imbecility.' 

This  obsession  by  the  l  unpleasant  side  of  things '  finds 
its  expression  in  the  furious  disgust  of  Huysmans'  early 
works  :  En  Menage^  Les  Soeurs  Vatard,  A  Van  VEau. 

In  Nature  only  the  melancholy  side  can  appeal  to  him. 

He  has  also  all  the  Baudelairian  love  of  contemplative 
sadness.  Here  is  how  he  speaks  of  Nature  : — 

'  Nature  is  only  interesting  when  weakly  and  distressful.  I  do  not 
deny  her  magic  and  her  glory  when  her  great  laugh  bursts  her 
corsage  of  dark  rocks,  and  she  brandishes  in  the  sun  her  green- 
tipped  bosom,  but  I  confess  I  do  not  feel  before  her  displays  of 
vigour  that  tender  charm  which  is  produced  in  me  by  a  desolate 
spot  in  a  great  town,  a  bare  mound,  a  little  stream  weeping  between 
two  frail  trees. 

*  In  reality  the  beauty  of  a  landscape  is  made  up  of  melancholy.' 

La  Bievre. 

Or  this  from  the  Cabaret  des  Peupliers  : — 

( In  the  distance  one  or  two  shaky  huts  with  mattresses  hanging 
out  of  the  windows,  and  flowers  planted  in  milk  cans  and  old  sauce- 
pans; trees  whose  sap  is  weakly  are  placed  at  irregular  intervals, 
and,  showing  their  paralysed  arms  like  beggars,  they  shake  their 
heads  that  stammer  in  the  wind,  and  bend  their  trunks  poorly 
nourished  by  the  niggardliness  of  an  incurable  soil.' 

Let  us  now  pass  on  to  consider  A  Rebours  and  its  hero 
des  Esseintes,  who,  as  is  usual  in  this  author's  works,  is 
Huysmans  i*tmself. 

On  the  title-page  we  read  :  *  I  must  find  delight  beyond 
my  time — though  the  world  have  horror  of  my  joy,  and  in 
its  coarseness  know  not  what  I  mean.' 

Let  us  see  how  he  sets  about  accomplishing  his  aim. 
In  the  first  place,  by  carrying  the  Baudelairian  attitude  of 
detachment  from  the  world  to  the  point  of  withdrawing  to 
a  *  comfortable  solitude  far  from  the  incessant  deluge  of 
human  stupidity.' 


POSTERITY  167 

The  site  chosen,  he  sets  to  work  to  arrange  his  ideal 
home.  The  descriptions  here  are  clearly  reminiscent  of 
Gautier.  In  this  home,  then,  des  Esseintes  will  live  his 
own  life ;  his  aim  is  to  forget  reality  and  live  in  a  dream — 
1  to  delude  himself  to  the  point  of  substituting  the  dream 
for  the  reality/  But  a  change  has  now  come  over  the 
spirit  of  the  dream — the  ideal  element  has  left  it,  it  is 
merely  the  dream  of  the  sensations.  The  one  essential 
thing  in  Huysmans'  tactics  concerning  the  pursuit  of 
sensation  being  always  to  follow  an  exceptional  course, 
des  Esseintes  resolves  to  satisfy  this  condition  by 
beginning  his  day  in  the  evening  and  supping  at  five 
o'clock  A.M.  (r exception  dans  Pordre  moral  again).  And 
then  proceeds  with  the  cult  of  the  sensations. 

He  takes  up  the  Baudelairian  theory  of  corre- 
spondences : — 

1  He  thought  that  the  sense  of  smell  could  experience  pleasures 
as  great  as  those  of  hearing  and  sight,  each  sense,  by  reason  of 
a  natural  disposition  and  an  erudite  cultivation,  being  able  to 
perceive  new  impressions,  to  multiply  them  tenfold,  to  co-ordinate 
them,  and  make  of  them  that  whole  which  constitutes  a  per- 
formance ' 

— which  theme  is  developed  at  length  in  the  tenth  chapter. 
Baudelaire  showed  the  way  here.  Huysmans  carries  the 
theory  of  correspondences  even  further,  as  when  he  speaks 
of  liqueurs  : — 

'Des  Esseintes  drank  a  drop  here  and  a  drop  there  (and) 
managed  to  produce  in  his  throat  sensations  analogous  to  those 
which  music  procures  for  the  ear.  .  .  .  Moreover,  for  him  each 
liqueur  corresponded  in  taste  with  the  sound  of  an  instrument.  For 
instance,  dry  curagao,  with  the  clarionet  whose  note  is  high  and 
velvety ;  kiimmel,  with  the  hautboy  whose  sonorous  timbre  has  a 
nasal  quality ;  menthe  and  anis,  with  the  flute  which  is  both  sugary 
and  peppery,  whining  and  sweet ;  while,  to  complete  the  orchestra, 
kirsch  sounds  furious  trumpet-notes,  etc.,  etc. 

4  These  principles  once  granted,  he  was  able,  thanks  to  profound 


168       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

experience,  to  play  silent  melodies  upon  his  tongue,  mute  funeral 
marches  with  magnificent  spectacle,  to  hear  in  his  mouth  soli  of 
menthe,  duos  of  vespetro  and  rum.' 

In  his  reading,  too,  des  Esseintes  shows  his  Baude- 
lairian  tastes.  Poe  has  a  great  attraction  for  him  and  for 
this  reason  : — 

'  He  was  the  first — under  the  title  of  the  Imp  of  the  Perverse — to 
study  those  irresistible  impulses  which  the  will  suffers  without 
realising  them,  and  of  which  cerebral  pathology  has  now  given  an 
almost  certain  explanation.  He  was  also  the  first  to,  if  not  point 
out,  at  least  divulge  the  depressing  influence  of  fear  acting  upon  the 
will  in  the  same  way  as  anaesthetics  which  paralyse  feeling,  and 
curare  which  destroys  the  nervous  motive  elements.  It  was  towards 
this  point,  this  lethargy  of  the  will,  that  he  had  made  his  studies 
converge,  analysing  the  effects  of  this  moral  poison,  indicating  the 
symptoms  of  its  progress,  the  troubles  beginning  with  anxiety, 
continuing  with  agony,  and  finally  breaking  out  into  terror  which 
stupefies  volition,  while  the  intelligence,  though  shaken,  does  not 
give  way.' 

Of  the  moderns,  he  was  influenced,  he  says,  by  Zola, 
the  Goncourts,  Flaubert,  and  above  all  by  Baudelaire. 
For  the  last-named,  des  Esseintes  had  a  boundless 
admiration  : — 

'According  to  him  literature  had  been  limited  hitherto  to  an 
exploration  of  the  surface  of  the  soul,  or  to  a  penetration  into  such 
of  its  subterranean  chambers  as  are  accessible  and  lit  up,  while  the 
authors  noted  here  and  there  the  beds  of  capital  sins,  studying  their 
veins,  their  growth,  and  remarked,  like  Balzac,  for  example,  the 
simplification  of  the  soul  possessed  by  the  monomania  of  a  passion. 

1  Baudelaire  went  further,  he  travelled  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
inexhaustible  mine,  and  made  his  way  through  abandoned  or 
unknown  galleries,  and  finally  reached  those  districts  of  the  soul 
wherein  is  the  ramification  of  thought's  monstrous  vegetation. 

'He  revealed  the  morbid  psychology  of  the  mind  which  has 
reached  the  October  of  its  sensations ;  related  the  symptoms  of  souls 
sought  out  by  sorrow,  favoured  by  "  Spleen  " ;  showed  the  decay 
of  impressions,  increasing  as  the  enthusiasms  and  beliefs  of  youth 


POSTERITY  169 

are  dulled,  when  nothing  remains  but  the  arid  recollection  of  misery 
suffered,  intolerance  undergone,  irritation  incurred  by  intelligences 
oppressed  by  an  absurd  destiny. 

1  He  had  undergone  all  the  phases  of  this  lamentable  autumn, 
watching  the  human  creature  embittering  itself  with  such  docility, 
cleverly  deceiving  itself,  forcing  its  thoughts  to  cheat  one  another 
the  better  to  suffer,  in  advance  spoiling  all  possible  joy,  thanks  to 
analysis  and  observation. 

*  At  a  moment  when  literature  attributed  the  pain  of  life  almost 
exclusively  to  the  misfortunes  of  love  unrequited  or  adulterous 
jealousy,  he  neglected  these  childish  maladies  to  probe  wounds 
more  incurable,  more  sensitive,  and  deeper ;  wounds  which  satiety, 
disillusion,  contempt,  inflict  upon  those  ruined  souls  whom  the 
present  tortures,  the  past  revolts,  and  the  future  terrifies  and  plunges 
into  despair.' 

We  have  quoted  at  some  length  —  a  comprehensive 
criticism  is  frequently  an  illumination  on  the  mind  of  the 
critic  quite  as  much  as  that  of  the  criticised. 

In  des  Esseintes  Huysmans  created  a  type  which  has 
had,  and  still  has,  a  great  influence  :  the  type  of  the 
naturally  unnatural.  Baudelaire,  Barbey  d'Aurevilly, 
Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  had  seen  the  danger  of  the  art- 
for-art  theory.  Not  so  the  descendants  of  des  Esseintes  ; 
with  them  it  is  become  the  keystone  of  their  building — 
Fuyons — rentrons  dans  Vartificiel  is  their  motto. 

A  Rebours  marks  the  beginning  of  the  second  stage 
of  Huysmans'  development — shows  the  first  signs  of  the 
writer's  being  en  route  towards  faith.  True,  there  had 
been  a  hint  of  this  in  A  Vau  VEau,  where  Folantin  defin- 
itely decides  that  '  religion  alone  could  heal  his  aching 
wound,'  when  he  thinks  of  a  cousin  who  is  a  nun,  and 
begins  to  envy  her  her  calm,  silent  life,  and  to  regret  his 
own  lost  faith,  and  exclaims, 

'  What  a  consolation  is  to  be  found  in  prayer,  what  a  pastime  in 
confession,  what  an  outlet  in  the  rites  of  cult,  "  Spleen  "  has  no  hold 
on  pious  souls  ! ' 


170       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

The  idea  recurs  in  A  Rebours.     Des  Esseintes 

' .  .  .  looked  down  as  it  were  from  the  tower  of  his  mind  upon  the 
panorama  of  the  Church,  its  hereditary  influence  upon  humanity  for 
centuries ;  he  pictured  it  to  himself  desolate  yet  great,  announcing 
to  man  the  horror  of  life,  the  inclemency  of  fate,  preaching  patience, 
contrition,  the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  seeking  to  heal  all  sores  by  showing 
the  bleeding  wounds  of  Christ,  giving  assurance  of  divine  privileges, 
promising  the  fairer  part  of  Paradise  to  the  afflicted,  exhorting  the 
human  creature  to  suffer,  to  offer  to  God  as  holocaust  its  vicissitudes 
and  its  troubles.  The  Church  became  truly  eloquent,  maternal 
to  the  unhappy,  compassionate  to  the  oppressed,  threatening  to 
oppressors  and  despots.' 

And  the  conclusion  of  the  book  is  a  prayer  : — 

1  Lord,  have  pity  on  the  Christian  who  doubts,  on  the  unbeliever 
who  would  fain  believe,  on  the  galley  slave  of  life  who  embarks 
alone  in  the  night  under  a  firmament  no  longer  lit  up  by  the 
consoling  watch-lights  of  former  hopes.' 

The  next  step  in  this  path  is  to  be  found  in  Huysmans' 
interest  in  sacrilege  and  satanism  as  expressed  in  La-bas. 

But  here  already,  as  M.  Lemaitre  points  out,  Huysmans 
was  en  route  towards  belief : — 

'  For  when  one  believes  in  God  sufficiently  to  curse  Him,  it  is 
very  simple :  one  might  as  well  adore  Him.  Black  masses  come 
near  the  other  mass  because  they  are  its  contrary  :  and  satanic 
despair  may  engender  divine  hope.  Absolute  pessimism,  when  less 
a  perversion  of  the  mind  than  a  state  of  the  nervous  system,  may  be 
a  great  creator  of  dreams.' 

On  this  subject  one  may  well  apply  to  Huysmans  his 
own  words  on  Barbey  d'Aurevilly  : — 

'  Sacrilege  which  proceeds  from  the  very  existence  of  a  religion 
can  only  be  intentionally  and  pertinently  carried  out  by  a  believer, 
for  man  would  find  no  delight  in  profaning  a  faith  that  was  in- 
different or  unknown  to  him.' 

Finally,  En  Route  completes  the  history  of  the  mind's 
development  in  giving  the  story  of  his  conversion — one 


POSTERITY  171 

of  the  two  natural  courses  open  to  one  who  suffered  so 
acutely  from  his  disgust  at  life. 

'  Ah  ! '  he  went  on,  '  when  I  think  of  that  horror,  that  disgust  of 
existence  which  has  for  years  and  years  increased  in  me,  I  under- 
stand how  I  am  forced  to  make  for  the  Church,  the  only  port  where 
I  can  find  shelter. 

1  Once  I  despised  her,  because  I  had  a  staff  on  which  to  lean  when 
the  great  winds  of  weariness  blew;  I  believed  in  my  novels,  I 
worked  at  my  history,  I  had  my  art.  I  have  come  to  recognise  its 
absolute  inadequacy,  its  complete  incapacity  to  afford  happiness. 
Then  I  understood  that  Pessimism  was,  at  most,  good  to  console 
those  who  had  no  real  need  of  comfort;  I  understood  that  its 
theories,  alluring  when  we  are  young,  and  rich,  and  well,  become 
singularly  weak  and  lamentably  false  when  age  advances,  when 
infirmities  declare  themselves,  when  all  around  is  crumbling. 

'  I  went  to  the  Church,  that  hospital  for  souls.  There  at  least  they 
take  you  in,  they  put  you  to  bed  and  nurse  you,  they  do  not  merely 
turn  their  backs  on  you  as  in  the  wards  of  Pessimism  and  tell  you 
the  name  of  your  disease.' — En  Route^  trans.  Kegan  Paul.  Third 
edition,  1897. 

There  are  then  in  Huysmans  two  conflicting  feelings 
which  appear  contradictory,  but  are  so  only  in  appearance 
— that  of  the  horror  of  life,  and  above  all  of  the  impurity 
of  the  flesh  ;  and  that  of  a  certain  delectation  in  this  very 
ugliness.  He  hates  the  impurity,  and  yet  takes  pleasure 
in  describing  it.  We  have  already  seen  that  such  a  state 
of  mind  is  common,  but  it  presupposes  a  Christian  state 
of  mind  in  the  being  who  experiences  the  feeling.  The 
judgment  that  Huysmans,  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
always  made  on  his  own  works,  the  profound  aversion 
with  which  they  inspired  him,  recalls  the  disgust  that 
any  believer  has  for  himself  when  he  has  succumbed  to 
temptation.  Huysmans'  soul  was  purified  by  each  of  his 
intellectual  crises,  though  slowly,  very  slowly,  and  in  this 
way  naturalism  in  him  was  transformed  into  mysticism. 

This  point  brings  us  to  A  Reboursy  which  was  such  a 


172       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

literary  event  at  the  time  of  its  publication.  Here  we  see 
him  attracted  by  the  stupidity  and  ugliness  of  things, 
attracted  by  them,  that  is,  not  in  life,  but  in  the  picture  he 
draws  of  them. 

Such,  shortly,  is  the  history  of  the  stages  of  Huysmans' 
'conversion.'  For  a  long  while  no  one  was  willing  to 
believe  that  a  writer  who  was  at  once  so  naturalistic  and 
so  ironical  could  be  sincere.  Men  of  letters  saw  in  En 
Route  nothing  but  a  passion  for  human  documentation. 
They  reasoned  that  Huysmans,  a  disciple,  a  friend  of 
Zola,  had  gone  to  the  monastery  to  seek  new  artistic 
sensations.  On  the  other  hand,  theologians  did  not 
understand  a  man's  embracing  a  religion  without  enter- 
ing into  theological  controversy,  and  they  reproached 
Huysmans  with  being  led  into  Catholicism  through  the 
senses.  Such  a  conversion  held  nothing  flattering  to 
their  pride  as  scholastic  doctors  who  would  lead  men 
to  faith  by  way  of  reason.  Then  again,  the  Catholicism 
of  Huysmans  frightened  them.  This  man,  who  from  one 
day  to  the  next  went  to  the  utmost  limits  of  Catholicism  ; 
this  man,  who  was  only  interested  in  mysticism,  and  who, 
only  just  converted,  already  suggested  the  martyr,  pre- 
sented a  spectacle  by  which  the  timorous  were  scandalised. 

Yet  Huysmans  was  really  and  sincerely  converted. 

Twenty  years  after  the  publication  of  A  Rebours  he  had 
the  volume  privately  reprinted,  and  wrote  for  it  a  Preface 
which  is  of  the  highest  importance  for  whomsoever  would 
understand  this  man  who  was  above  and  before  all  sincere  :— 

'  I  was  not  brought  up  in  a  congregational  school,  but  in  a  lycee ; 
I  was  never  pious  in  my  youth,  and  that  aspect  of  childish 
recollection,  first  communion  and  education,  which  often  occupies 
an  important  place  in  conversions,  had  none  in  mine.  And  what 
complicates  the  difficulty  still  further  is  that  when  I  wrote  A 
Rtbours  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  setting  foot  inside  a  church ; 
I  was  not  acquainted  with  any  church-going  Catholic,  nor  with  any 
priest ;  I  felt  no  divine  touch  urging  me  to  direct  my  steps  towards 


POSTERITY  173 

the  Church ;  I  was  living  quite  comfortably  in  my  trough;  it  seemed 
perfectly  natural  to  me  to  satisfy  every  impulse  of  my  senses,  and  the 
thought  that  this  kind  of  tournament  was  forbidden  never  entered 
my  head. 

'A  Rebours  appeared  in  1884,  and  I  went  into  a  Trappist 
monastery  to  become  converted  in  1892.  Nearly  eight  years  passed 
before  the  seed  of  this  book  began  to  grow :  let  us  say  there  were 
three  years  of  secret,  steady,  and  sometimes  perceptible  work 
of  grace ;  there  still  remain  five  years  when  I  do  not  remember 
feeling  any  Catholic  desire,  any  regret  for  the  life  I  was  leading,  any 
wish  to  change  it.  Why,  how,  was  I  incited  into  a  way  which  was 
then  to  me  lost  in  the  night  ?  I  am  absolutely  incapable  of  saying. 
Nothing,  unless  it  were  the  influence  of  beguine  convents  or 
cloisters,  the  prayers  of  a  very  devout  Dutch  family  whom  I 
scarcely  knew,  can  explain  the  perfect  unconsciousness  of  the  last 
cry,  the  religious  appeal  on  the  last  page  of  A  Rebours. 

1  Yes,  I  know,  there  are  some  very  strong-minded  people  who  map 
out  and  arrange  in  advance  the  journey  of  their  existence,  and  keep 
to  their  plan ;  it  is  even  agreed,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  that  given  the 
will  one  may  accomplish  anything,  but  I,  I  confess,  have  never  been 
a  man  tenacious  of  purpose,  nor  a  cunning  author. 

'My  life  and  my  writings  have  something  passive  about  them, 
something  unconsciously  tending  in  a  very  certain  direction  outside 
myself.  Providence  was  compassionate  to  me,  Our  Lady  was  kind  to 
me.  I  confined  myself  to  not  opposing  them  when  they  showed 
their  intentions ;  I  simply  obeyed ;  I  was  led  along  what  are  called 
the  extraordinary  ways  ;  if  any  one  is  certain  of  the  nonentity  he 
would  be  without  God's  help,  it  is  I.' 

Such  is  the  document  Huysmans  gives  us  of  his 
conversion.  There  is  no  need  to  discuss  it.  What  we 
now  know  of  Huysmans  proves  how  true  it  was,  and  how 
mistaken  were  those  who  predicted  his  return  to  his 
former  ways. 

It  should  have  been  seen  that  in  Huysmans'  religion 
there  was  nothing  of  that  purely  literary  quality  of 
Chateaubriand,  nor  of  the  purely  moral  and  social  char- 
acter of  that  of  Brunetiere  (to  speak  of  a  man  recently 
dead,  and  who  had  a  considerable  influence). 


174       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

A  comparison  of  Brunetiere  and  Huysmans  forces  itself 
upon  us.  While  Brunetiere  sought  for  ten  years  to  find 
1  reason  for  belief,'  Huysmans  entered  the  domain  of  faith 
straightway  with  no  beating  about  the  bush.  For,  after 
all,  the  best  reason  for  belief  is  faith. 

What  happens  to-day  is  rather  curious.  M.  Brune- 
tiere's  talent  has  been  lauded  to  the  skies,  and  far  be  it 
from  us  to  criticise  ;  from  the  moral  point  of  view  this 
man  was  a  true  saint. 

On  the  other  hand,  much  ridicule  has  been  hurled  at 
Huysmans  because  he  was  an  artist  who  let  himself  be 
guided  by  his  sensations. 

But  what  is  the  result  to-day  ?  M.  Brunetiere,  despite 
all  his  talent  and  his  oratorical  campaigns,  only  converts 
the  converted.  Not  that  he  is  at  fault.  Yet  in  addressing 
himself  to  philosophic  reasoning  he  was  addressing  him- 
self to  that  part  of  our  mind  which  always  wishes  to 
reason,  to  the  argumentative  side.  But  reason  destroys 
reason  ;  the  way  to  faith  is  not  by  the  road  of  meta- 
physics. 

Huysmans,  on  the  contrary,  far  more  humble,  had  the 
feeling  of  the  divine.  His  book  En  Route  tells  us  how 
this  feeling  was  reinforced,  renewed,  by  frequenting 
churches,  by  the  company  of  two  or  three  friends,  and  by 
the  intellectual  struggles  he  underwent.  No  psychologist 
— be  he  believer  or  sceptic — can  afford  to  neglect  such  a 
book.  One  realises  in  reading  these  pages  that  faith — in 
so  far  as  it  can  be  analysed — is  above  and  before  all  a 
feeling,  and  such  an  imperious  feeling  that  it  becomes 
will.  The  distinction  between  will  and  feeling  is  purely 
imaginary — in  the  act  of  faith  feeling  and  will  become 
one. 

But  then  is  added  another  element  which  Huysmans 
makes  us  understand  perfectly,  that  element  that  for 
centuries  has  been  known  as  *  Grace.'  This  word  which 
has  embittered  so  many  theological  quarrels  expresses  a 


POSTERITY  175 

reality  ;  it  means  the  support  that  the  religious  soul  feels 
coming  from  outside. 

From  this  point  of  view  Huysmans'  book  En  Route  is  a 
psychological  document  of  the  highest  importance,  and 
when  the  quarrels  of  certain  theologians  have  long  lain 
forgotten  we  shall  take  up  his  book  to  watch  the  efforts 
and  the  sufferings  of  a  human  soul. 

To  answer  those  questions  of  whence  our  coming  and 
whither  our  going,  what  our  progress,  what  our  destiny 
and  what  the  foundation  of  our  morality,  philosophers 
enough  come  with  their  contradictory  replies.  They  ensure 
our  taking  pleasure  in  reading  an  artist,  for  Huysmans 
was  a  true  artist,  who  did  not  trouble  himself  about  the 
truth  or  name  of  one  doctrine,  but  who  reverently  (yes, 
reverently,  for  aught  one  may  say  to  the  contrary)  accepted 
all  the  Catholic  faith,  ordered  his  life  in  accordance  with 
that  doctrine,  and  died  a  saint's  death  after  terrible 
suffering.  As  M.  Henri  d'Hennezel  says  : — 

'  His  death  was  the  most  perfect  of  his  works  ...  no  complaint 
ever  came  from  his  lips,  and  during  all  those  months  of  agony  when 
he  felt  life  slipping  away  from  him,  in  the  midst  of  unspeakable 
suffering,  he  spoke  of  his  illness,  only  to  submit  its  duration  to  the 
will  of  God.' 

Huysmans  in  his  style  is  an  extraordinary  artist  and 
innovator  ;  in  his  ideas  he  seems  like  a  man  of  the  Middle 
Ages  with  his  wonderful  simplicity,  a  brother  of  that 
humble  '  Simeon  le  porcher '  of  whom  he  draws  such  a 
vivid  portrait  in  En  Route. 


176       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


VI 

MAURICE  ROLLINAT 

IN  1883  one  of  the  ' sensations'  of  Paris  was  the  poet 
Maurice  Rollinat,  then  aged  about  thirty,  already  famous 
by  reason  of  his  two  volumes  of  poems  Dans  les  Brandes 
and  Les  Nevroses,  who  in  various  salons  sang  his  verses 
to  the  music  he,  himself,  composed  for  them.  His  striking 
originality,  his  great  gifts,  poetic  and  musical,  made  him 
the  fashion  at  one  period.  Ill-health,  however,  rendered 
it  advisable  for  him  not  to  live  in  Paris.  Still  the  public 
approval  he  enjoyed  was  very  pleasant,  and  he  hesitated 
some  time  before  following  medical  advice  of  retiring  to 
the  country.  One  night,  so  the  story  goes,  after  he  had 
sung  some  of  his  verses  in  a  salon  with  his  usual  energy 
and  passion,  an  old  general  advanced  and  asked  of  him  : 
*  Well,  M.  Rollinat,  are  you  satisfied  with  your  perform- 
ance!' That  decided  Rollinat,  and  he  left  Paris  next 
day  for  his  native  Chateauneuf.  His  friends,  at  first, 
believed  this  retirement  to  be  a  passing  caprice,  the  out- 
come of  pique,  but  the  years  went  on  and  Rollinat  never 
returned  to  Paris.  He  seems  to  have  been  quite  content 
with  his  quiet  provincial  life  and  the  pleasure  that  he  found 
in  trout-fishing,  or  (like  his  ancestress  George  Sand)  in 
observation  of  the  peasants  living  round  him — a  life  which 
offers  a  contrast  indeed  to  that  of  literary  favourite,  but 
in  which  he  had  the  consolation  of  freedom  from  the  petty 
jealousies  of  public  life,  and  where,  if  the  applause  be 
lacking,  so  likewise  is  the  sting  of  shifting  favour. 


POSTERITY  177 

As  he  himself  says  : — 

'  It  is  only  the  solitary  fireside  in  some  lost  retreat,  which  is  the 
mind's  best  paradise,  turning  its  sadness  to  work,  inspiring  its 
sorrow,  rendering  fertile  its  idleness.' 

It  was  here  that  he  wrote  L'abime  (1886),  La  nature 
(1892),  Les  apparitions  (1896),  Pay  sages  et  pay  sans  (1899)) 
En  Errant  (1903),  Ruminations  (published  in  1905).  He 
died  mad  at  Ivry  in  1903. 

Rollinat  is  the  most  direct  descendant  of  Baudelaire,  a 
great  disciple  who,  for  some  critics,  surpasses  his  master. 
Like  Baudelaire,  like  Poe,  Rollinat  loved  to  conjure  up  the 
horrible,  to  dwell  on  it ;  but  for  this  his  mind  needed  no 
artificial  stimulant,  his  extraordinary  imagination  sufficed. 
Admitting  Rollinat  to  be  a  disciple  of  Baudelaire,  it 
follows  at  once  he  has  a  great  admiration  for  Poe.  His 
ideal  in  music  (with  Wagner)  was  Chopin,  whom  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  call  the  '  Farouche  Edgar  Poe  of  music.' 
Here  is  his  poem  on  Poe  : — 

1  Edgar  Poe  fut  demon  ne  voulant  pas  etre  ange, 
Au  lieu  du  Rossignol  il  chanta  le  Corbeau, 
Et,  dans  le  diamant  du  Mai  et  de  PEtrange, 
II  cisela  son  reve  effroyablement  beau. 

II  cherchait  dans  le  gouffre  ou  la  raison  s'abime 

Les  secrets  de  la  Mort  et  de  1'Eternite  ; 

Et  son  ame,  ou  passait  Peclair  sanglant  du  crime, 

Avait  le  cauchemar  de  la  Perversite. 

Chaste,  mysterieux,  sardonique  et  feroce, 

II  raffine  1'Intense,  il  aiguise  1'Atroce ; 

Son  arbre  est  un  cypres,  sa  femme  un  revenant. 

Devant  son  ceil  de  lynx  le  probleme  s'eclaire. 

Oh,  comme  je  comprends  1'amour  de  Baudelaire 

Pour  ce  grand  Tenebreux  qu'on  lit  en  frissonnant ! ' 

Rollinat,  too,  is  a  tenebreux  ;  his  mind  is  full  of  eerie 
fancies  which  have  an  endless  fascination  for  him  : — 
*  Mon  crane  est  un  cachot  plein  d'horribles  bouffees. 
Le  fantome  du  crime  a  travers  ma  raison 
Y  rode  pe*netrant  comme  un  regard  de  fees.' 

Fantome  du  Crimed 
1  See  also  Le  Fantdme  cT  Ursule. 
M 


i78       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  Depuis  que  1'Horreur  me  fascine, 
Je  suis  1'oiseau  de  ce  serpent. 
Je  crois  toujours  qu'on  m'assassine, 
Qu'on  m'empoisonne  ou  qu'on  me  pend.' — DAngoisse. 

Sensations  had  created  these  ideas,  and  these  ideas  in 
their  turn  create  sensations  ;  they  break  through  the  ennui 
of  existence  which,  after  all,  for  Rollinat  is  made  up  of 
frissons — each  emotion  has  its  corresponding  frisson  : — 

'  Un  frisson  gai  nait  de  1'espoir, 
Un  frisson  grave  du  devoir, 
Mais  la  Peur  est  le  frisson  noir 
De  la  Pensee. 


La  Peur  qui  met  dans  les  chemins 
Des  personnages  surhumains. 
La  Peur  aux  invisibles  mains 
Qui  revet  1'arbre 

D'une  carcasse  ou  d'un  linceul, 
Qui  fait  trembler  comme  un  aieul, 
Et  qui  vous  rend,  quand  on  est  seul, 
Blanc  comme  un  marbre.' 


He  would  say  with  Gerard  de  Nerval 1 :  '  Grains  dans 
le  mur  aveugle  un  regard  qui  t'epie.' 

He  puts  this  same  spirit  into  his  landscapes — for  ex- 
ample in  '  Le  Pacage '  from  Dans  les  Brandes  : — 

'  Couleuvre  gigantesque,  il  s'allonge  et  se  tord, 
Tatoue  de  marais,  herisse  de  viornes, 
Entre  deux  grands  taillis  mysterieux  et  mornes 
Qui  semblent  revetus  d'un  feuillage  de  mort.  .  .  . 

Ses  buissons  ou  rode  un  eternel  chuchoteur 
Semblent  faits  pour  les  yeux  des  noirs  visionnaires  ; 
Chaque  marais  croupit  sous  des  joncs  centenaires 
Presque  surnaturels  a  force  de  hauteur.  .  .  . 

Aussi  1'ceil  du  poete  hallucine  sans  treve 

En  boit  avidement  Paustere  etrangete. 

Pour  ce  pale  voyant  ce  pacage  est  broute' 

Par  un  betail  magique  et  tout  charge  de  reve.  .  .  . 

1  Gerard  de  Nerval,  a  philosopher,  has  a  pantheistic  conception  lacking  in 
Rollinat. 


POSTERITY  179 

En  automne  surtout,  a  1'heure  deja  froide, 

Ou  1'horizon  decroit  sous  le  ciel  assombri, 

Alors  qu'en  voletant  1'oiseau  cherche  un  abri, 

Et  que  les  bceufs  s'en  vont  1'ceil  fixe  et  le  cou  roide  ; 

J'aimais  a  me  trouver  dans  ce  grand  prd,  tout  seul, 
Fauve  et  mysterieux  comme  un  loup  dans  son  antre, 
Et  je  marchais,  ayant  de  1'herbe  jusqu'au  ventre, 
Cependant  que  la  nuit  deVoulait  son  linceul. 

Alors  au  fatidique  hou-hou-hou  des  chouettes, 
Aux  coax  revelant  d'invisibles  marais, 
La  croissante  pe'nombre  ou  je  m'aventurais 
Fourmillait  vaguement  d'horribles  silhouettes. 

Puis  aux  lointains  sanglots  d'un  sinistre  aboyeur 
Les  taureaux  se  ruaient  comme  un  troupeau  de  buffles, 
Et  parfois  je  frolais  des  fanons,  et  des  mufles 
Dont  le  souffle  brulant  me  glagait  de  frayeur.' 

Directly  inspired  by  Poe,  too,  are  such  poems  as  l  Le 
Fantome  d'Ursule,'  *  L'Enterre  Vif,'  <  Les  Dents,'  and 
the  prose  tale  'Le  Manoir  Tragique,'  the  vision  of  two 
knights  visibly  enemies,  a  harp  which  plays  of  itself,  a 
woman's  voice  singing,  and,  finally,  the  apparition  of  the 
woman  and  the  melodramatic  tale  Rollinat  weaves  from 
this  material. 

In  Rollinat  again  we  find  the  Baudelairian  habit  of 
regarding  the  universe  sub  specie  ceternitatis. 

In  his  Ruminations  we  find  the  following  passage  : — 

'Announcements  of  birth,  marriage,  decease,  are  identical  for 
Time,  who  reads  them  all  three  with  the  same  eye  in  the  tomb, 
since  for  him  fixed  for  ever  in  his  solitary  immanence,  indefinite 
arrivals  in  the  world,  marriages  here  on  earth,  departure  from  earth, 
are  accomplished  all  together  at  the  same  hour  of  eternity;  that 
which  must  cease  to  live  is  already  dead.' 

And  this  from  En  Errant : — 

'  For  him  who  evokes  funereal  thoughts  and  who  in  the  sanctuary 
of  a  cold  wan  church  suddenly  sees  a  bride  all  dressed  and  veiled 
in  white  enter  with  her  company,  is  it  not  the  sudden  apparition  of 
death  dressed  up  and  heading  with  pomp  and  solemnity  the  train 
of  the  living  he  leads  to  the  tomb  ? ' 


i8o       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

He  has  the  same  desire  to  pierce  below  the  surface  of 
things : — 

1  Who  knows  what  dreadful  beds  of  slime  lie  under  the  most 
brilliantly  flourishing  grass,  the  most  radiantly  scintillating  water? 
Who  knows  what  a  foundation  of  stagnant  horror,  of  serried  sadness 
is  under  the  most  brightly  shining  eyes,  the  most  charming  ex- 
pressions of  a  smile  ? ' 

This  is  the  old,  old  question  : — 

'  I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled  ; 
That  every  Hyacinth  the  Garden  wears 
Dropt  in  its  Lap  from  some  once  lovely  Head. 

And  this  delightful  Herb  whose  tender  Green 
Fledges  the  River's  Lip  on  which  we  lean — 
Ah,  lean  upon  it  lightly  !  for  who  knows 
From  what  once  lovely  Lip  it  springs  unseen  ! ' 

The  love  of  perfumes 

'  (1'on  a  beau 

Vivre  ainsi  qu'un  cadavre  au  fond  de  son  tombeau 
Les  parfums  sont  toujours  des  illusions  neuves) ' 

is  another  Baudelairism. 

Rollinat,  too,  has  all  the  Baudelairian  animism.  He 
says  of  the  moon  : — 

1  Elle  argente  sur  les  talus 
Les  vieux  troncs  d'arbres  vermoulus 
Et  rend  les  saules  chevelus 

Si  fantastiques, 
Qu'a  ses  rayons  ensorceleurs 
Us  ont  Pair  de  femmes  en  pleurs 
Qui  penchent  au  vent  des  douleurs 

Leurs  fronts  mystiques.' — La  Lime. 

And  the  same  temper  is  found  in  such  pieces  as  *  Le 
Champ  du  Diable,'  <  Vapeur  des  Mares,'  '  La  Voix  du 
Vent'  (Pay  sages  el  pay  sans) : — 

VAPEUR  DES  MARES 
'  Le  soir,  la  solitude  et  la  neige  s'entendent 
Pour  faire  un  paysage  affreux  de  cet  endroit 
Ble'missant  au  milieu  dans  un  demi  jour  froid, 
Tandis  que  ses  lointains  d'obscurite  se  tendent. 


POSTERITY  181 

Qa  et  la  des  etangs  dont  les  glaces  se  fendent 

Avec  un  mauvais  bruit  qui  suscite  1'effroi ; 

La-bas  dans  une  terre  ou  le  vague  s'accroit, 

Des  corbeaux  qui  s'en  vont  et  d'autres  qui  s'attendent. 

Voici  qu'une  vapeur  voilee 

Sort  d'une  mare  degele'e, 

Puis  d'une  autre  et  d'une  autre  encor. 

Lugubre  hommage  en  quelque  sorte 
Qui  lentement  vers  le  ciel  mort 
Monte  de  la  campagne  morte.' 

LA  VOIX  DU  VENT 
'  Les  nuits  d'hiver,  quand  le  vent  pleure 
Se  plaint,  hurle,  siffle  et  vagit, 
On  ne  salt  quel  drame  surgit 
Dans  Phomme  ainsi  qu'en  la  demeure. 

Sa  grande  musique  mineure 
Qui  tour  a  tour,  grince  et  mugit, 
Sur  toute  la  pensee  agit 
Comme  une  voix  interieure. 

Ces  cris,  cette  clameur  immense 
Chantent  la  rage,  la  demence, 
La  peur,  le  crime,  le  remords.  .  .  . 

Et  voluptueux  et  funebres 
Accompagnent  dans  les  tenebres 
Les  rales  d'amour  et  de  mort.' 

Nor  is  the  Baudelairian  bitterness  lacking  : — 

*  Mon  cceur  repentant 
Dont  tu  te  moques, 

O  Satan, 

Est  en 

Loques. 

Oh  !  les  noirs  soliloques 
Que  je  marmotte  en  boitant ! ' 

Again  the  piece  entitled  '  La  Gueule ' : — 

4  O  fatale  rencontre  !  au  fond  d'un  chemin  creux 
Se  chauffait  au  soleil,  sur  le  talus  ocreux, 
Un  reptile  aussi  long  qu'un  manche  de  quenouille. 
Mais  le  saut  effare  d'une  pauvre  grenouille 
Montrait  que  le  serpent  ne  dormait  qu'k  moitie  1 
Et  je  laissai,  1'horreur  etranglant  ma  pitie, 


182       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Sa  gueule  se  distendre  et,  toute  grande  ouverte, 

Se  fermer  lentement  sur  la  victime  verte. 

Puis  le  sommeil  reprit  le  hideux  animal. 

La  grenouille,  c'est  moi  !  Le  serpent,  c'est  le  mal  ! ' 

The  piece  called  '  Le  Solitaire,' 

*  Au  sommet  de  la  tour  etrange 
Habite  un  enorme  crapaud. 
— Qui  peut  t'avoir  porte'  si  haut  ? 
Est-ce  un  diable  ou  bien  est-ce  un  ange  ? ' 

though  directly  inspired  by  Tristan  Corbiere,  shows 
strikingly  the  Baudelairian  habit  of  regarding  things 
from  their  disquieting  standpoint. 

The  demands  Rollinat  makes  as  to  the  tastes  of  his 
ideal  woman  constitute  a  kind  of  Baudelairian  creed  : — 

*  Lis-tu  dans  la  nature  ainsi  qu'en  un  grand  livre  ? 
En  toi  1'instinct  du  mal  a-t-il  garde  son  mors  ? 
Preferes-tu,  trouvant  que  la  douleur  enivre, 
Le  sanglot  des  vivants  au  mutisme  des  morts  ? 

Et  les  chats,  les  grands  chats  dont  la  caresse  griffe, 
Quand  ils  sont  devant  1'atre  accroupis  de  travers, 
Saurais-tu  dechiffrer  le  vivant  logogriphe 
Qu'allume  le  phosphore  au  fond  de  leurs  yeux  verts  ? 

As-tu  peur  du  remords  plus  que  du  mal  physique, 
Et  vas-tu  dans  Pascal  abreuver  ta  douleur  ? 
Chopin  est-il  pour  toi  1'Ange  de  la  musique, 
Et  Delacroix  le  grand  sorcier  de  la  couleur  ? 

As-tu  le  rire  triste  et  les  larmes  sinceres, 
Le  mepris  sans  effort,  1'orgueil  sans  vanite  ? 
Fuis-tu  les  coeurs  banals  et  les  esprits  faussaires 
Dans  Pasile  du  reve  et  de  la  verite  ? ' — L Introuvablc. 

So  much,  then,  for  the  disciple's  debt.  Now  in  what 
way  did  Rollinat  surpass  his  master?  Above  all  by  his 
lack  of  pose,  and  love  of  nature. 

Rollinat  had  none  of  the  Baudelairian  hatred  of  the 
natural  merely  in  so  far  as  it  is  natural,  and  Nature  in  the 
landscape  sense  of  the  word  was  a  great  resource  for  him, 
whereas  for  Baudelaire  it  held  none.  Thus  Rollinat  is 
not  Baudelairian  when  he  writes  : — 


POSTERITY  183 

f  — Vague  du  spleen,  en  vain  centre  moi  tu  deferles 
Sous  1'arceau  de  verdure  ou  passent  des  frissons, 
J'ai  pour  me  divertir  le  bruit  que  font  les  merles 
Avec  leur  voix  aigue  egreneuse  de  perles  ! 
Et  de  meme  qu'ils  sont  les  rires  des  buissons, 
La  petite  grenouille  est  Tame  des  cressons.' 

Le  Chemin  aux  merles. 

Nor  when  he  delights  in  the  fact  that  he  is  the  confidant 
of  Nature's  children  : — 

1 A  moi  le  loup  rodant 
Et  les  muets  cloportes ! 
Les  choses  qu'on  dit  mortes 
M'ont  pris  pour  confident.' — Le  petit  Fantdme. 

He  repeats  the  same  thing  a  little  further  on  : — 

*  Alors,  je  comprenais  le  mystere  des  choses. 
Ce  verbe  de-parfums  que  chuchotent  les  roses 

Vibrait  tendre  dans  mes  douleurs  : 
Ce  qui  pleure  ou  qui  rit,  ce  qui  hurle  ou  qui  chante, 
Tout  me  parlait  alors  d'une  voix  si  touchante 
Que  mes  yeux  se  mouillaient  de  pleurs.' — La  Confidence. 

One  more  example — which  owes  nothing  to  Baudelaire: — 

*  La  chanson  de  la  perdrix  grise, 
Ou  la  complainte  des  grillons, 
C'est  la  musique  des  sillons 
Que  j'ai  toujours  si  bien  comprise. 

Sous  1'azur,  dans  Fair  qui  me  grise, 
Se  mele  au  vol  des  papillons 
La  chanson  de  la  perdrix  grise 
Ou  la  complainte  des  grillons. 

Et  1'ennui  qui  me  martyrise 

Me  darde  en  vain  ses  aiguillons, 

Puisqu'a  1'abri  des  chauds  rayons 

J'entends  sur  Paile  de  la  brise 

La  chanson  de  la  perdrix  grise.' 

Here  is  a  domain  beyond  the  reach  of  Baudelaire,  and 
through  the  possession  of  which  Rollinat  is  happier, 
saner,  greater  than  his  master.  Had  this  side  been  only 
a  little  stronger,  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  for 
Rollinat !  But  this  is  the  weaker  side  of  his  temperament. 
His  was  a  mind  unbalanced,  and  towards  the  end  of  his 
life,  under  stress  of  domestic  trouble,  reason  tottered,  and 
before  his  death  completely  abandoned  him. 


1 84       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


VII 
RODENBACH 

GEORGES  RODENBACH  is  the  first  of  the  line  of  Belgians 
whose  work  belongs  to  French  literature,  just  as  the 
modern  Irish  literature  is  counted  as  English  ;  any  ex- 
clusion of  these  poets  on  the  ground  of  nationality  were 
but  artificial. 

Rodenbach  was  born  in  1855  at  Tournay,  where  he  was 
educated  till  1875,  when  he  entered  the  University  of  Gand, 
graduating  there  as  Doctor  of  Law.  He  then  went  to  Paris 
and  availed  himself  of  the  opportunities  of  hearing  the 
famous  lawyers.  After  winning  a  reputation  for  himself 
as  a  lawyer,  he  retired  again  to  Belgium,  forsaking  law  for 
literature,  giving  himself  up  to  that  melancholy  contem- 
plative vein  which  is  his  characteristic,  and  the  outcome, 
as  in  the  case  of  so  many  of  Baudelaire's  descendants,  of 
his  imperfect  health.  Lemaitre  has  well  said  of  Roden- 
bach :  *  Few  men  have  possessed  to  so  high  a  degree  the 
precious  gift  of  amusing  themselves  with  being  sad.' 

During  these  years  in  Belgium  he  wrote  Tristesses 
(1879),  UHiver  Mondain  (1884),  Jeunesse  blanche  (1886), 
Mer  elegante  (i^). 

In  1887  he  came  to  Paris  again.  He  was  a  member  of 
that  literary  cenacle  who  founded  the  club  des  Hydropathes^ 
and  of  which  Maurice  Rollinat,  Paul  Arene,  Emile 
Goudeau,  Paul  Bourget,  Bastien  Lepage,  and  Sarah  Bern-* 
hardt  were  members.  It  was  in  this  club  that  he  read 
his  novel  L! Art  en  Exil,  and  from  this  moment  date  his 


POSTERITY  185 

more  important  works — LArt  en  Exil,  a  novel  (1889), 
Le  Regne  du  Silence,  verse  (1889),  Bruges  la  Morte,  a 
novel  (1892),  Voyage  dans  les  Yeux,  verse  (1893), 
Musee  des  Beguines,  prose  (1894),  L&  Voile  >  drama  in 
verse  (1894),  L&  Miroir  du  del  natal,  poems  (1894), 
L'Arbre,  a  tale  (1898).  He  died  in  Paris  in  1898 — on 
Christmas  morning. 

By  a  curious  irony  of  fate  his  last  work  was  a  poem  on 
the  New  Year  he  was  never  to  see.  We  quote  one  or  two 
stanzas : — 

'  La  buche  lentement  dans  Patre  se  consume  ; 
La  chambre  songe,  encore  un  peu  enluminee 
Par  la  buche  qui  est  deja  presque  posthume, 
Chaleur  de  la  derniere  buche  de  Pannee  ! ' 

'  Ainsi  les  choses  vont. 
Tout  se  hate,  trebuche 
Dans  Peternite  sans  fond, 
L'annee  avec  la  buche, 

La  buche  avec  Pannee, 
On  entend  s'affliger  le  vent 
Et  tout  va  s'achevant 
En  un  peu  de  fume'e.  .  .  . 

Une  nouvelle  annee  encor  ! 

Le  vent  dans  la  cheminee 

N'est  plus  triste  comme  le  son  du  cor. 

Encore  une  nouvelle  annee  ! 

Encore  une  buche  allumee  ! ' 

In  the  work  of  Rodenbach  we  find  at  once  many 
characteristics  derived  from  Baudelaire.  There  is  the 
same  fear  of  ennui : — 

'  La  peur  que  demain  soit  comme  aujourd'hui, 
Que  Pheure  jamais  ne  sonne  autre  chose.' 

La  Vie  des  chambres  XV. 

And  as  the  Baudelairians  before  him,  Rodenbach  finds 
the  same  remedy,  that  is  in  his  dreams.  *  Mon  ame,'  he 
says, 


1 86       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

' .  .  .  .  se  console  avec  la  vie  en  songe 
La  vie  emmaillote'e  aux  langes  du  mensonge.' 

His  prayer  therefore  is, 

'  O  Seigneur,  donnez-moi  un  r6ve  quotidien.  .  .  .' 

Rodenbach  is  himself  like  the  hero  of  his  L  Art  en 
Exit,  for  whom  in  the  end  '  dreams  have  become  more 
lifelike,  more  tangible  than  the  realities  around  him.' 

For  Rodenbach,  as  for  Baudelaire,  mystery  has  a  pro- 
found attraction  through  its  suggestiveness.  The  idea  of 
something  hidden — for  instance  the  costume  of  a  nun — 
never  ceased  to  set  him  dreaming.  In  his  Musee  des 
Beguines  (1894),  a  whole  volume  is  given  up  to  their 
study.  In  Le  Voile  (1894),  a  drama  in  verse,  the  hero 
believes  himself  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  beguine 
who  has  been  sent  to  nurse  his  old  dying  aunt.  The  one 
question  that  haunts  him  is  the  problem  of  the  colour  of 
the  beguine's  hair.  He  questions  her  on  the  subject,  but 
she  will  tell  him  nothing.  One  night  he  is  hurriedly 
summoned  to  the  old  aunt's  bedside.  Arriving  there  he 
finds  the  beguine,  who  has  come  from  her  room  in  similar 
haste  and  without  her  hood.  He  sees  the  colour  of  her 
hair — the  mystery  is  at  an  end,  and  with  it  the  attraction  :— 

*  Or  mon  amour  fait  de  mystere,  d'inconnu, 
Meurt  du  voile  leve,  des  cheveux  mis  a  nu  .  .  . 
Je  la  vois  ce  qu'elle  est ;  ne  la  retrouvant  plus 
Comme  1'imaginait  mon  amour  de  reclus, 
Et  sans  plus  son  halo  de  linge  en  aureole  ! 
C'est  fini !  Tout  1'amour  brusquement  s'etiole 
De  trop  savoir.     L'amour  a  besoin  d'un  secret.' 

He  is  of  the  same  opinion  as  Rollinat,  who  wrote  in  his 
Ruminations  :  '  Woman,  like  the  sea,  attracts  us  far  more 
by  her  fathomless  mystery  than  by  any  brilliance  of 
exterior.' 

The  same  idea  recurs   in   his   story   L'Art  en  ExiL 


POSTERITY  187 

Here  again  the  hero  is  attracted  by  the  mystery  of  a 
nun.  He  marries  her.  Then  comes  the  disillusion — she 
is  far  from  realising  his  exceptional  hopes.  He  gives 
her  Wagner's  music — she  will  not  play  it.  He  reads 
his  favourite  poets  to  her — Baudelaire  and  Hugo — she 
does  not  listen.  It  is  still  worse  when  he  comes  to 
compose  his  great  poem  of  which  he  had  dreamed  so 
long  :— 

4  This  dreamed-of  poem  was  only  a  symbol,  the  symbol  ]of  his 
own  life  stagnant  among  the  cold  stones,  exhausted  but  harmonious 
as  bells  across  the  mist ;  pierced  with  little  light,  a  sister  of  those 
suburbs  where  the  lamps  are  few.' 

He  works  at  it  with  great  enthusiasm  : — 

'With  one  great  effort  he  had  raised  high  this  tower  of  his 
sorrow,  the  materials  for  which  had  lain  so  long  unused  in  the 
dust  of  his  soul.' 

Finally  he  reads  it  to  his  wife,  who  completes  the 
growing  disillusion  by  inquiring  how  much  money  the 
poem  will  bring  in  :  '  She  had  understood  the  frenzy  of 
the  Cross,  she  could  not  understand  the  frenzy  of  Art.' 

Love  of  the  mysterious  has  played  him  a  cruel  trick : 
<  She  was  like  all  other  women.' 

The  Baudelairian  impossibility  to  gaze  on  a  cradle 
without  being  led  to  think  of  a  tomb  is  also  present  in 
Rodenbach.  Take,  for  instance,  the  poem  he  composed 
on  an  infant  who  died  immediately  after  its  baptism,  and 
the  reflections  he  makes  : — 

'  Hdlas  !  Thiver  touche  au  printemps, 
Et  la  mort  touche  a  la  naissance. 

•  L'aube  a  son  sourire  et  ses  pleurs, 
L'air  ses  vautours  et  ses  colombes, 
Sous  la  verdure  et  sous  les  fleurs 
Naissent  les  berceaux  et  les  tombes  ! 


i88       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

On  fait  souvent  un  linceul  froid 
D'un  voile  de  fete  splendide  : 
On  construit  un  cercueil  etroit 
Avec  le  bois  d'un  berceau  vide  !  .  .  .' 

The  most  distinctive  trait  of  Rodenbach's  writings  is 
his  love  of  assigning  a  reasoning  existence  to  the  in- 
animate world  around  him  ;  he  carries  this  Baudelairian 
faculty  to  a  very  high  pitch. 

He  loved  those  '  troubled  hours  when  ' 

'  Tout  devient  nostalgique  et  commemoratif ; 
Le  jet  d'eau  raccourci  prend  la  forme  d'un  if ; 
La  fumee,  au-dessus  du  douteux  paysage, 
Doucement  se  devoile  en  langoureux  tissu 
Ou  menace,  dans  Pair,  un  texte  entr'apercu, 
Et  dans  la  lune  pale,  on  a  peur  d'un  visage.' 

Au  Fil  de  Fame^  xii. 

Like  Gerard  de  Nerval  and  Rollinat,  he  feared  a  watch- 
ing eye  in  the  blank  wall.     As  he  explains  it, 
*  Or  mes  yeux  sont  aussi  les  vitres  condamnees 
D'une  maison  en  deuil  du  depart  des  annees, 
Et  c'est  pourquoi,  du  fond  de  ces  lointains  du  nord, 
Je  me  sens  regarde  par  ces  yeux  sans  envie 
Qui  ne  se  tournent  plus  du  cot6  de  la  vie, 
Mais  sont  orientes  du  cote  du  tombeau.'— Paysages  de  Ville,  iv. 

A  considerable  division  of  his  volume  called  Le  Regne 
du  Silence  is  devoted  to  the  consideration  of  la  vie  des 
chambres.  Here  is  a  good  example  of  his  attitude  : — 

4  L'obscurite,  dans  les  chambres,  le  soir,  est  une 
Irreconciliable  apporteuse  de  craintes  ; 
En  deuil,  s'habillant  d'ombre  et  de  linges  de  lune, 
Elle  inquiete  ;  elle  a  de  felines  etreintes, 
Comme  une  eau  des  canaux  traitres  ou  Ton  se  noie. 
L'obscurite,  c'est  la  tueuse  de  la  Joie 
Qui  deperit,  bouquet  de  roses  transitoires, 
Quand  elle  y  verse  un  peu  de  ses  fioles  noires. 
L'obscurite  s'installe  avec  le  crepuscule  ; 
Elle  descend  dans  Fame  aussi  qui  s'entdnebre  ; 
Sur  le  miroir  heureux  tombe  un  crepe  funebre  ; 
La  clarte,  dirait-on,  est  blessee  et  recule 
Vers  la  fenetre  ou  s'offre  un  linceul  de  dentelle.  .  .  .'  etc. 


POSTERITY  189 

In   the   same   way   he   is   profoundly  affected  by  the 
contemplation  of  what  he  calls  le  cosur  de  Feau. 

'  Son  amour  du  repos,  son  degout  de  la  vie 
Sont  si  contagieux  que  plus  d'un  1'a  suivie 
Dans  la  chapelle  d'ombre  au  fond  pieux  des  eaux 
Oil,  tranquille,  elle  chante  au  pied  des  longs  roseaux 
Dont  1'orgue  aux  verts  tuyaux  1'accompagnent  en  sourdine.' 

One  more  quotation — this  time  from  Le  Miroir  du  del 
Natal  :— 

*  La  Nuit  est  seule,  comme  un  pauvre. 
Les  reverberes  offrent 
Leur  flamme  jaune 
Comme  une  aumone. 

La  Nuit  se  tait  comme  une  eglise  close. 

Les  reverberes  melancoliques 

Ouvrent  leur  flamme  rose, 

Comme  des  bouquets  de  lumieres, 
Des  bouquets  sous  un  verre  et  qui  sont  des  reliques, 
Par  qui  la  Nuit  s'emplit  d'Indulgences  plenieres. 

La  Nuit  souffre  ! 
Les  reverberes  en  choeur 
Dardent  leur  flamme  rouge  et  souffre 

Comme  des  ex-votos, 

Comme  des  Sacre-Coaur, 
Que  le  vent  fait  saigner  avec  ses  froids  couteaux. 

La  Nuit  s'exalte ! 
Les  reVerberes  a  la  file 
Deficient  leur  flamme  bleue 
Dans  les  banlieues, 
Comme  des  ames  qui  font  halte, 
Les  ames  en  chemin  des  morts  de  la  journee, 
Qui  revent  d'entrer  dans  leur  maison  fermee, 
Et  s'attardent  longtemps  aux  portes  de  la  ville.' 

Les  Reverberes. 

So  intense  does  this  life  of  objects  become,  according 
to  Rodenbach,  that  it  develops  an  extraordinary  power 
of  suggestion.  There  is  a  tale  in  his  Contes  posthumes 
which  is  a  striking  example  of  this.  It  is  the  story  of  a 
man,  who,  though  in  reality  much  attached  to  his  wife, 


190       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

becomes  irritated  by  her,  and  on  a  sudden  impulse  kills 
her.     The  source  of  this  impulse  was  a  passing  train  : — 

1  In  the  blackness  of  night  a  black  train.  It  passed  by  with  the 
sound  of  disaster,  uttering  a  piercing  shriek.  I  only  noticed 
one  thing:  the  lamp  in  front  of  the  engine.  It  was  red,  a 
fearful  red  like  a  recent  wound,  an  enormous  round  wound.  The 
night  seemed  wounded.  This  great  red  spot  was  blood.  Yes,  the 
wound  was  bleeding,  but  the  blood  could  hardly  coagulate ;  then 
suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  the  blood  of  this  light  overflowed ;  the  red 
wound  widened,  came  nearer,  splashed  over  my  eyes,  my  hands,  the 
whole  country.  An  immense  wound  !  Was  the  night  going  to  die  ? 
Now  at  that  very  second  I  conceived  the  idea  of  the  murder.' 

In  the  same  way  in  the  Preface  of  his  Bruges  la  Morte, 
that  record  of  a  man's  failure  to  rehabilitate  the  ideal  of 
his  dead  wife  in  a  living  woman  who  resembled  her,  he 
says : — 

*  In  this  study  of  passion  we  have  wished  at  the  same  time 
and  above  all  to  evoke  a  city,  the  city  as  an  essential  character 
associated  with  the  states  of  mind  that  counsel,  dissuade,  and 
determine  action.  Thus,  in  reality,  this  Bruges  that  it  has  pleased 
us  to  describe  seems  almost  human.  .  .  .  An  influence  is  established 
by  her  upon  those  who  stay  there.  She  fashions  them  in  accordance 
with  her  sites  and  steeples.  That  is  what  we  hoped  to  suggest :  the 
city  directing  action ;  and  the  scenery  of  the  city  not  merely  like  the 
background  of  a  picture,  in  descriptive  themes  somewhat  arbitrarily 
chosen,  but  bound  to  the  whole  plot  of  the  book.' 

Critics  have  often  reproached  Rodenbach  for  always 
laying  his  scenes  in  Bruges,  for  not  varying  his  back- 
ground. The  objection  seems  to  us  an  idle  one — like 
crying  out  against  Mr.  Kipling  for  using  India  as  his 
setting,  or  against  Mr.  Hardy  for  his  similar  use  of 
Wessex.  It  matters  little  that  the  poet  uses  the  same 
background  so  long  as  with  it  he  has  something  fresh 
to  say.  But  this  is  precisely  where  Rodenbach  fails — 
once  start  him  on  an  idea  and  he  wears  it  threadbare. 
He  finds  Sundays  very  tiresome,  aid  repeats  the  fact 


POSTERITY  191 

throughout  a  hundred  pages.     After  reading  them,  we 
feel  we  have  lived  through  months  of  Sundays. 

Fiction,  like  history,  only  records  the  exceptional,  still 
more  then  do  we  demand  the  exceptional  from  poetry. 
It  is  well  for  the  poet 

'  To  see  a  world  in  a  grain  of  sand 
And  a  heaven  in  a  wild  flower.' 

The  mystery  of  Nature  will  be  always  moving  ;  but 
we  find  it  difficult  to  be  moved  by  the  aspirations  of  a 
weathercock.  Not  so  Rodenbach  : — 

'  En  ces  villes  qu'attriste  un  chceur  de  girouettes, 
Oiseaux  de  fer  revant  de  fuir  au  haut  des  airs.' 

And  here  are  the  feelings  of  the  water  in  an  aquarium  : — 

*  Dans  le  verre  elle  s'est  close  et  se  tient  coite, 
Moins  en  souci  des  vains  reflets  et  du  reel, 
Que  d'etre  ainsi  quelque  mystere  qui  scintille.  .  .  . 
Avec  1'orgueil  un  peu  triste  d'etre  inutile  ! ' — Les  Vies  encloses^  xi. 

Bells  too  form  a  varied  society  : — 

( D'autres  cloches  sont  des  beguines 
Qui  sortent,  1'une  apres  1'autre,  de  leur  clocher, 
Tel  que  d'un  couvent,  a  matines, 
Et  se  hatent  en  un  cheminement  frileux, 
Comme  s'il  allait  neiger.  .  .  . 

II  en  est,  en  robes  de  bronze, 

Qui  tintent,  tintent  ; 

Et  s'eloignent,  geignant  des  plaintes  indistinctes, 

Et  des  demandes  sans  reponse. 

II  en  est  qui  vivotent  seules, 

Comme  des  aieules, 
Dans  la  tristesse  et  le  brouillard  ; 
Et  qui  ont  toujours  Fair, 

Dans  1'air, 
De  suivre  un  corbillard.' — Les  Cloches. 

And  since  a  town  has  a  life  of  its  own,  it  follows  that 
it  can  also  have  an  illness  : — 

'  La  maladie  atteint  aussi  les  pauvres  villes  .  .  . 
Telles  vont  deperir  d'un  mal  confus  et  doux ; 


i92       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

A  peine  elles  naissent ;  mais  leurs  cloches  debiles 
Sont  comme  les  acces  d'une  petite  toux.' 

Stevenson  says  in  his  *  Essay  on  Gas  Lamps '  that  with 
their  invention  the  work  of  Prometheus  had  advanced  by 
another  stride.  '  The  city  folk  had  stars  of  their  own  ; 
biddable,  domesticated  stars.'  Rodenbach  is  of  the  same 
opinion,  and  devoted  a  whole  series  of  poems  to  Les 
Reverberes.  Here  again  he  has  harped  too  long  on  one 
string,  has  carried  his  theories  too  far.1  Of  a  room  at 
the  hour  of  lighting  the  lamps  he  says  : — 

'  Le  vieux  salon  6ta.it  comme  un  veuf, 
Accable  par  Pombre  unie  au  silence  ; 
On  dirait  maintenant  qu'il  se  recommence 

Avec  un  coeur  neuf.' — Les  Lampes^  xii. 

Or  again  : — 

'  La  chambre  s'etonne 
De  ce  bonheur  qui  dure  ; 
Elle  rit,  elle  est  guerie 
De  la  pauvrete  d'etre  obscure  .  .  . 
Elle  est  comme  celui  qui  a  regu  1'aumone.' — Les  Lampes,  i. 

In  the  same  way  does  night  take  pity  on  an  old  wall : — 

'  Or  la  Lune  est  montee  au  ciel  dans  un  halo, 
Et  les  carillons  noirs  egrenent  leur  rosaire  .  .  . 
C'est  alors  que  le  Soir,  soudain  apitoye 
Pour  les  vieux  murs  que  nul  n'assiste  en  leurs  desastres, 
Envoie  a  tel  ou  tel  vieux  mur  pauvre  et  ploye 
Des  linges  de  lumiere  et  des  aumones  d'astres.' 

1  It  is  very  interesting  to  see  what  Huysmans  thought  of  Rodenbach  j  he  is 
entirely  untroubled  by  any  literary  jealousy  of  the  latter.  Here  is  what  he  says : 
*  Rodenbach  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  virtuosi  of  our  time.  Upon  one 
or  two  themes  that  he  chose  from  among  those  whose  originality  had  not  struck 
any  one  else,  he  broidered  the  most  delicate  variations,  continually  using  unex- 
pected comparisons,  new  metaphors.  Imagine  one  of  those  fruitless  poetical 
competitions,  with  the  given  subject  Street  Lamps ;  every  one  would  think  it  a 
thankless  task  to  develop  such  a  theme,  and  would  rack  his  brains  to  throw  off 
a  few  lines.  He  made  light  of  these  difficulties  and  set  down,  in  honour  of  these 
lamps,  seven  improbable  charming  poems,  full  of  unknown  comparisons  and 
hitherto  hardly  suspected  analogies ;  he  gave  life  to  these  street  lights,  trans- 
formed them  into  sensitive  beings,  whose  plaints  he  then  related  with  great 
tenderness.' — Huysmans,  De  tout,  p.  215. 


POSTERITY  193 

Baudelaire's  love  of  the  exceptional  would  have  kept 
him  from  these  pitfalls  of  animism  ;  but  if  Rodenbach 
loves  the  exceptional,  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  embodied 
in  the  commonplace  objects  around  us.  Herein  he  is 
simpler  than  Baudelaire.  If  he  borrowed  from  the  Fleurs 
du  Mai,  it  was  from  their  pious  side,  for  example,  in  his 
poems  on  the  Host : — 

'  O  le  beau  clair  de  lune  qu'est  Phostie  ; 

Le  pretre  a  1'autel  1'a  brandie  ; 

Et  sa  tonsure  pale  est  comme  une  autre  hostie.  .  .  . 

Et  dans  1'hostie  on  croit  voir  par  moments 

La  face  de  Jesus  s'ebaucher  en  du  sang 

A  cause  des  reflets  des  cierges  par  moments.' 

Rodenbach's  books  are  like  the  town  he  celebrated  so 
often  and  in  which  he  spent  his  youth,  by  those  dreamy 
canals  whose  banks  are  ever  the  haunt  of  memories. 

They  have  the  veiled  charm  of  Flemish  landscape,  the 
devout  perfume  of  that  Bruges  long  since  sanctified  by 
Memlinc,  where  at  evening  the  lights  before  its  convents 
are  like  nuns  watching  before  an  altar. 

The  chimes  dancing  up  and  down  the  stairs  of  the  black 
gables,  the  beguinage  with  its  daisy-enamelled  pavement, 
the  convents  with  their  crumbling  stone  walls,  and  all  those 
primitive  Flemish  masterpieces  impregnate  the  old  town's 
heroic,  pious,  past  history  with  a  strange  enchantment. 

You  will  find  exactly  the  same  thing  in  Rodenbach's 
poetry. 


N 


194       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


VIII 
MALLARME 

AMONG  the  modern  poets,  the  Symbolist  school  in  its 
very  essence  owes  something  to  the  Baudelairians. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  suggestive  school,  and 
suggestion  as  opposed  to  didactics  is  one  of  the  chief 
Baudelairian  weapons  suggerer  tout  rhomme  par  tout 
Part?  one  of  their  highest  aims.  The  Symbolists  use 
myth  and  legend  for  their  aims.  These  are  no  new 
weapons,  but  they  are  put  to  a  new  use  ;  they  no  longer 
serve  as  brilliant  romantic  anecdotes.  The  Symbolists 
in  France  (just  as  Hebbel  and  Gerhard  Hauptmann  in 
Germany)  use  them  purely  for  their  suggestiveness,  and 
this  is  a  Baudelairian  attitude. 

M.  Remy  de  Gourmont,  speaking  of  the  Symbolist 
school,  says  that  with  it  'a  new  truth  has  entered  into 
literature  and  art — the  principle  of  the  ideality  of  the  world.' 

This  principle  was  already  present  in  one  aspect  of 
Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam's  writings,  in  those  of  Barbey 
d'Aurevilly,  and  of  Rollinat. 

It  is  by  this  aspect  of  his  work  that  Mallarme,  the 
leader  of  the  Symbolists,  is  Baudelairian. 

Mallarme's  importance  lies  not  so  much  in  the  very 

1  The  Symbolist  school  has  at  last  found  its  philosopher  in  the  person  of 
M.  Henri  Bergson.  The  affirmation  of  unconscious  psychical  states  is  one  of 
the  essential  doctrines  of  M.  Bergson's  philosophy,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
great  truth  after  which  the  Symbolists  were  groping.  The  enthusiasm  with 
which  M.  Bergson  tries  to  bring  to  light  the  inexpressible  in  the  life  of  the  soul 
makes  him  not  only  the  real  theoretician  of  this  school  but  a  great  poet  as  well. 


POSTERITY  195 

slender  bulk  of  his  writings,  as  in  the  influence  that  he 
himself  had  on  the  younger  generation  that  loved  to 
gather  round  him.  He  belongs  to  that  race  of  causeurs 
upon  whom,  while  they  talk,  ideas  come  thronging  with 
perfect  clearness,  but  from  whom  lucidity  is  the  first  trait 
to  recede  when  they  take  pen  in  hand,  and  would  transfer 
their  ideas  to  paper.  Mallarme  was  more  than  a  poet,  he 
was  a  theorist  and,  as  such,  an  educator.  It  was  in  his 
rooms  in  the  Rue  de  Rome,  on  the  famous  Tuesday 
evenings,  that  he  talked  great  literature  for  twenty  years, 
while  all  artistic  Paris  listened.  He  was  the  last  aesthete 
of  language — and  we  are  still  waiting  for  his  Boswell. 

We  who  have  not  heard  him  talk,  who  were  not  present 
at  his  explanations  of  his  ideas,  cannot  fully  penetrate  his 
work  ;  yet  uninitiated  though  we  be,  we  can  hope  to  under- 
stand the  general  tendency,  and  we  do  find  delight  in  his 
subtle  art. 

It  was  Huysmans  who  first  revealed  Mallarme  to  the 
general  public.1  And  in  his  criticism  Huysmans  touches 
on  one  of  the  points  wherein  Mallarme  is  carrying  on  the 
Baudelairian  theory  of  correspondences.  For  it  is  this 
doctrine  that  leads  Mallarme,  in  Huysmans'  words, 

'  perceiving  the  most  distant  analogies  ...  to  designate  often  with 
a  single  term  which  gives  at  once,  by  an  effect  of  resemblance, 
the  form,  perfume,  colour,  quality,  brilliance  of  the  object  or  being 
to  which  he  would  have  to  couple  many  different  epithets  in  order 
to  bring  out  all  its  appearances,  all  its  shades,  had  it  been  merely 
indicated  by  its  technical  name.' 

The  most  striking  trait  of  Mallarme's  work  is  his  effort 
to  extract  the  extraordinary,  the  exceptional  from  the 
most  commonplace  act  or  object.  The  Nenuphar  Blanc 
is  a  good  example  of  this  with  its  portrayal  of  the  man 
rowing  towards  a  garden  on  the  river,  and  striving  in  the 
meantime  to  idealise  the  aspect  of  his  actions  and  thoughts. 

1  A  Rebours,  p.  260. 


196       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

In  another  of  his  prose  sketches,  Le  Spectacle  Interrompu, 
he  exclaims : — 

I  How  far  is  civilisation  from  procuring  the  delight  attributable  to 
this  state  !     It  is  astonishing,  for  example,  that  there  does  not  exist 
an  association  in  every  great  town  of  the  dreamers  living  there  to 
subscribe  to  a  paper  which  should  report  events  in  that  light  likely 
to  produce  a  dream.' 

The  conclusion  of  the  sketch  is  eminently  charac- 
teristic : — 

I 1  got  up  like  every  one  else  to  breathe  the  air  outside,  astonished 
once  more  at  not  having  received  the  same  impression  as  my  kind, 
but  serene :  for  my  point  of  view  was  after  all  superior  and  even 
the  right  one.' 

Mallarme's  work  reposes  in  this  way  on  a  philosophical 
basis,  of  which  the  keynote  is  the  postulate  that  the  world 
in  which  we  live  is  only  a  pure  conception  of  the  mind,  a 
theory  which  of  course  is  to  be  found  in  the  philosophy 
of  Plato  or  of  Fichte  or  of  Hegel.  Thence  he  set  out  to 
try  and  write  a  poetry  which  should  be  the  fusion  of  all 
our  thoughts  and  emotions ;  a  poetry  which  should 
embrace  the  whole  universe.  Each  line  must  be  at  one 
and  the  same  time  a  thought,  a  feeling,  and  a  picture  ; 
each  word  must  be  a  precious  stone  fitting  into  the 
mosaic  of  the  whole.  Obviously  such  poems  cannot  be 
of  dazzling  clearness. 

1  Le  ciel  est  mort.     Vers  toi,  j'accours  !  donne,  6  matiere 
L'oubli  de  1' I  deal  cruel,  et  du  Peche' 
A  ce  martyr  qui  vient  partager  la  litiere 
Ou  le  betail  heureux  des  hommes  est  coucheY 

says  Mallarme,  with  Baudelairian  melancholy. 

This  melancholy,  too,  is  a  humour  in  which  Mallarme 
likes  to  indulge. 

*  Ma  songerie  aimant  a  me  martyriser 
S'enivrant  savamment  du  parfum  de  tristesse 
Que  meme  sans  regret  et  sans  deboire  laisse 
La  cueillaison  d'un  reve  au  coeur  qui  Fa  cueilli.' 


POSTERITY  197 

The  debt  to  Baudelaire  is  again  clear  in  his  sonnet 
*  Le  Sonneur ' : — 

LE  SONNEUR 

*  Cependant  que  la  cloche  eveille  sa  voix  claire 
A  1'air  pur  et  limpide  et  profond  du  matin, 
Et  passe  sur  1'enfant  qui  jette  pour  lui  plaire 
Un  angelus  parmi  la  lavande  et  le  thym, 
Le  sonneur  effleure  par  1'oiseau  qu'il  eclaire, 
Chevauchant  tristement  en  geignant  du  latin 
Sur  la  pierre  qui  tend  la  corde  seculaire, 
N'entend  descendre  a  lui  qu'un  tintement  lointain. 
Je  suis  cet  homme.     Helas  !  de  la  nuit  desireuse, 
J'ai  beau  tirer  le  cable  a  sonner  1' I  deal, 
De  froids  peches  s'ebat  un  plumage  feal, 
Et  la  voix  ne  me  vient  que  par  bribes  et  creuse  ! 
Mais,  un  jour,  fatigue  d'avoir  enfin  tire, 
O  Satan,  j'oterai  la  pierre  et  me  pendrai.' 

And  the  ennui  of  Herodias  takes  on  the  same  charac- 
teristics under  Mallarme's  touch  : — 

'  O  miroir ! 

Eau  froide  par  1'ennui  dans  ton  cadre  gelee, 
Que  de  fois,  et  pendant  les  heures,  ddsolee 
Des  songes  et  cherchant  mes  souvenirs  qui  sont 
Comme  des  feuilles  sous  ta  glace  au  trou  profond, 
Je  m'apparus  en  toi  comme  une  ombre  lointaine  ! 
Mais,  horreur  !  des  soirs,  dans  ta  severe  fontaine, 
J'ai  de  mon  reve  £pars  connu  la  nudite  ! ' 

The  same  Baudelairian  debt  is  perceptible  in  the  follow- 
ing piece : — 

BRISE  MARINE 

'  La  chair  est  triste,  he'las  !  et  j'ai  lu  tous  les  livres. 
Fuir  !  la-bas  fuir  !  Je  sens  que  des  oiseaux  sont  ivres 
D'etre  parmi  1'ecume  inconnue  et  les  cieux  ! 
Rien,  ni  les  vieux  jardins  re"fletes  par  les  yeux 
Ne  retiendra  ce  cceur  qui  dans  la  mer  se  trempe, 
O  nuits  !  ni  la  clarte  deserte  de  ma  lampe 
Sur  le  vide  papier  que  la  blancheur  deTend, 
Et  ni  la  jeune  femme  allaitant  son  enfant. 
Je  partirai !     Steamer  balan^ant  ta  mature 
Leve  1'ancre  pour  une  exotique  nature  ! 


198       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Un  Ennui,  desole'  par  les  cruels  espoirs, 
Croit  encore  a  1'adieu  supreme  des  mouchoirs  ! 
Et,  peut-etre,  les  mits,  invitant  les  orages 
Sont-ils  de  ceux  qu'un  vent  penche  sur  les  naufrages 
Perdus,  sans  mats,  sans  mats,  ni  fertiles  ilots  .  .  . 
Mais,  6  mon  coeur,  entend  le  chant  des  matelots  ! ' 

Artists  are  sometimes  terribly  discerning.  The  frontis- 
piece to  the  volume  of  Mallarme's  poems  is  an  etching  by 
Felicien  Rops,  showing  the  poet  seated  on  a  chair,  the 
back  of  which  is  a  mark  of  interrogation. 

For  Mallarme,  our  subconsciousness  seems  to  have 
been  this  mark  of  interrogation.  '  Every  clear  idea,'  he 
would  reason,  '  has  been  expressed  by  my  predecessors. 
It  only  remains  to  force  the  great  waves  in  the  ocean  of 
our  subconsciousness  to  some  stammering  utterance.' 

Rodenbach  had  set  forth  on  the  same  errand.  He 
said  : 

Nous  ne  savons  de  notre  ame  que  la  surface. 

Then  came  Mallarme,  who  in  his  turn  aimed  at 
showing  that  our  knowledge  of  our  soul  is  the  merest 
superficiality. 

Looked  at  in  this  way,  poetry  is  no  longer  the 
commonplace  story  of  a  poet's  life,  a  kind  of  Words- 
worthian  Prelude  ;  rather  is  it  a  breath  from  the  inner, 
unknown,  true  life  of  the  soul. 

If  you  turn  to  Mallarme's  poem,  Le  Tombeau  de 
Charles  Baudelaire,  written  to  honour  the  later  poet's 
master,  you  find  two  or  three  images  born  in  the  troubled 
depths  of  subconsciousness  covering  the  whole  piece  with 
a  kind  of  opium-atmosphere. 

The  Baudelairians  loved  the  autumn  of  things ;  the 
freshness  of  spring  makes  no  appeal,  while  the  sad 
promiseless  beauty  of  autumn  is  full  of  suggestiveness. 
It  is  the  same  with  Mallarme  ;  he  loves  to  contemplate 
la  grace  des  choses  fanees.  He  confesses  to  a  fondness 
for  everything,  which  is  implied  by  the  word  chute : — 


POSTERITY  199 

'Thus,  in  the  year  my  favourite  season  is  in  those  last  languid 
days  of  summer  which  immediately  precede  autumn;  and  in  the  day 
the  hour  at  which  I  take  my  walk  is  when  the  sun  rests,  before  dis- 
appearing, with  brassy  light  on  the  grey  walls,  and  coppery  light  on 
the  windows.  In  the  same  way  the  literature  in  which  my  soul  seeks 
delight  is  the  dying  poetry  of  Rome's  last  moments — though  only 
so  long  as  it  holds  no  hint  of  the  rejuvenating  approach  of  the 
Barbarians,  and  does  not  stammer  the  childish  Latin  of  early 
Christian  prose.' 

These  literary  tastes  seem  like  a  reminiscence  of 
Huysmans. 

Mallarme  was  a  far  greater  idealist  than  Baudelaire. 
The  Poesque  love  of  the  horrible  has  no  counterpart  in 
his  work,  though  Poe  as  a  poet  he  admired  immensely, 
translating  first  '  the  Raven,*  and  finally  all  the  poems, 
into  a  prose  version  which  is  frequently  more  beautiful 
than  the  original,  and  though  Dr.  Johnson  would  condemn, 
we  take  the  liberty  of  being  grateful.  The  pity  was  that 
Mallarme  carried  the  Baudelairian  hatred  of  *  popular* 
art  to  its  highest  degree,  finally  translating  '  popular ' 
by  l  intelligible.'  The  extraordinary  lyric  power  of  his 
'  Herodiade '  only  makes  us  the  more  regret  the  im- 
penetrable obscurity  of  much  of  his  more  advanced  work. 

The  dignity  of  classical  drama,  with  its  refusal  to 
include  the  people  in  its  roles,  has  made  it  a  dead  thing. 
The  intense  aloofness  of  Mallarme's  school  has  been 
the  cause  of  its  ultimate  failure.  Still,  in  parting  with 
Mallarme  we  may  quote  those  words  of  Huysmans  who 
rightly  loved  the  poet : — 

'Who  in  a  century  of  universal  suffrage,  in  an  age  of  lucre, 
sheltered  from  the  stupidity  around  him  by  his  disdain,  taking 
pleasure,  far  from  the  world  in  the  surprises  of  the  intellect,  grafting 
them  with  Byzantine  artifice,  perpetuating  them  in  lightly  sketched 
deductions  which  a  scarcely  perceptible  thread  held  together.' 


200       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


IX 
ALBERT   SAMAIN 

ALBERT  SAMAIN,  a  native  of  Lille,  was  born  in  1859. 
He  left  school  to  become  a  bank  clerk,  continuing  his 
reading  in  the  meanwhile.  His  talent  was  of  slow  de- 
velopment. In  1882  he  came  to  Paris,  and  obtained 
employment  at  the  Prefecture  de  la  Seine.  He  wrote  for 
the  Chat  Noir,  Scapin,  and  the  Mercure  de  France,  in 
which  last  were  published  most  of  the  poems  of  \htjardin 
de  V Infante.  It  was  not  until  1893  that  he  was  persuaded 
to  publish  separately  the  Jardin  de  V Infante,  which  at 
once  attracted  a  great  deal  of  notice. 

Samain  is  full  of  early  romanticism,  of  the  romanticism 
of  the  1830  period.  There  is  the  same  voluntary  sadness, 
the  same  regrets,  the  same  contempt  for  commonplace, 
the  same  pessimism. 

1  La  Vie  est  comme  un  grand  violon  qui  sanglote  .  .  . 
O  mon  cceur,  laisse-moi  m'envelopper  d'ailleurs, 
Laisse  la  rue  a  ceux  que  leur  ame  importune, 
Pour  toi  respire,  ainsi  qu'un  tresor  clandestin, 
Le  lys  de  solitude  a  ton  balcon  hautain.  .  .  .' 

But  his  second  volume,  Aux  Flancs  du  Vase  (1898), 
revealed  a  different  temper,  more  sincere  and  more 
original.  Soon  after  the  publication  of  this  volume  he 
suffered  a  severe  blow  in  the  loss  of  his  mother,  with 
whom  he  had  always  lived,  and  for  whom  he  had  shown 
such  a  deep  devotion.  He  had  long  suffered  from  a  lung 
affection,  and  after  travelling  in  search  of  cure,  first  to 


POSTERITY  201 

Villefranche  and  then  to  Magny-les-Hameaux,  he  died  in 
1900. 

Samain  had  a  great  admiration  for  Edgar  Poe.  In  the 
Notes  Incites  we  find  this  entry  :— 

*  I  have  been  reading  Poe  this  week.  Decidedly  he  is  to  be 
ranked  among  the  greatest.  The  powerfulness  of  his  conceptions, 
the  magnificence  of  his  hypotheses,  the  marvellous  force  of  his 
imagination  which  is  always  regulated  and  maintained  by  an  extra- 
ordinary will,  render  him  an  almost  unique  figure  in  art.  If  the 
word  perfection  could  be  pronounced,  it  is  for  a  case  like  this.' 

The  influence  of  Poe  on  Samain  is  overshadowed  by 
the  influence  of  Baudelaire,  yet  the  poem  '  Les  Tenebres ' 
is  full  of  Poesque  effect : — 

T£N£BRES 

'  Les  heures  de  la  nuit  sont  lentes  et  funebres. 
Frere,  ne  trembles-tu  jamais  en  ecoutant, 
Comme  un  bruit  sourd  de  mer  lointaine  qu'on  entend, 
La  respiration  tragique  des  tenebres  ? 

Les  Heures  de  la  nuit  sont  filles  de  la  peur  ; 
Leur  souffle  fait  mourir  Tame  humble  des  veilleuses, 
Cependant  que  leurs  mains  froides  et  violeuses  * 

S'allongent  sous  les  draps  pour  saisir  notre  cceur. 

Pale,  j'ecoute,  au  bord  du  silence  beant ; 
La  nuit  autour  de  moi,  muette  et  sepulcrale, 
S'ouvre  comme  une  haute  et  sombre  cathedrale 
Ou  le  bruit  de  mes  pas  fait  sonner  du  neant. 

J'e'coute,  et  la  sueur  coule  a  ma  tempe  bleme, 
Car  dans  1'ombre  une  main  spectrale  m'a  tendu 
Une  funebre  miroir  ou  je  vois,  confondu, 
Monter  vers  moi  du  fond  mon  image  elle-meme. 

Et  peu  a  peu  j'e'prouve  a  me  devisager, 
Comme  une  inexprimable  et  poignante  souffrance, 
Tant  je  me  sens  lointain,  tant  ma  propre  apparence 
Me  semble  en  cet  instant  celle  d'un  etranger. 

Ma  vie  est  Ik  pourtant,  tres  exacte  et  tres  vraie, 
Harnais  quotidien,  sonnailles  de  grelots, 
Comedie  et  roman,  faux  reves,  faux  sanglots, 
Et  cette  herbe  des  sens  folle,  comme  1'ivraie.  .  .  . 


202       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

De  mortelles  vapeurs  assiegent  mon  cerveau.  .  .  . 
Une  vieille  en  cheveux,  qui  rode  dans  les  tombes, 
Ricane,  en  egorgeant  lentement  des  colombes  ; 
Et  sa  main  de  squelette  agrippe  mon  manteau.  .  .  .' 

In  many  places  in  thefardm  de  V Infante  the  influence 
of  Baudelaire  is  very  plain.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  from 
Baudelaire  that  Samain  gets  his  humour  of  melancholy 
disenchantment : — 

*  Le  degout  d'exister  qui  me  remonte  aux  dents.' 

Fourth  Sonnet  of  LAlUe  Solitaire. 

He  would  say  with  Baudelaire  : — 

1  L'irrdsistible  nuit  etablit  son  empire, 
Noire,  humide,  funeste  et  pleine  de  frissons ' ; 

or  to  quote  his  own  words  : — 

'  Le  siecle  d'or  se  gate  ainsi  qu'un  fruit  meurtri. 
Le  coeur  est  solitaire,  et  nul  Sauveur  n'enseigne.  .  .  . 
Ces  gouttes  dans  la  nuit  ?  .  .  .  C'est  ton  ame  qui  saigne  ! 
Qui  de  nous  le  premier  va  jeter  un  grand  cri  ? 

Un  mal  ronge  le  monde  au  coeur  comme  une  teigne, 
Car  la  lettre  charnelle  a  suborn  e  Pesprit, 
Et  nul  ne  voit  le  mur  ou  la  main  chaste  ecrit : 
"  Que  le  feu  de  la  fete  impudique  s'e'teigne  ! " 

L'oeil  morne  a  parjure  la  lumiere  benie  ; 

Et  la  lampe,  soleil  fievreux  de  Pinsomnie, 

Luit  seule  en  nos  tombeaux  d'or  sombre  et  de  velours, 

Ou,  pale  et  succombant  sous  les  colliers  trop  lourds, 
Aux  sons  plus  tortures  de  Parchet  plus  acide, 
L'art,  languide  dnerve", — supreme  !  se  suicide.' 

The  opening  of  his  song  '  Accompagnement '  is  pure 
Samain  : — 

'  Tremble  argente,  tilleul,  bouleau.  .  .  . 
La  lune  s'effeuille  sur  Peau.  .  .  . 

La  rame  tombe  et  se  releve, 
Ma  barque  glisse  dans  le  reve  ! ' 

but  then  falls  into  pure  Baudelaire  : — 

'  Des  deux  rames  que  je  balance, 
L'une  est  Langueur,  Pautre  est  Silence.  .  .  . 


POSTERITY  203 

Comme  la  lune  sur  les  eaux, 
Comme  la  rame  sur  les  flots, 
Mon  ame  s'effeuille  en  sanglots  ! ' 

With  Baudelaire,  Samain  would  demand  of  his  ideal 
'  Sois  belle  et  sois  triste.'  His  love  songs  have  a  kind  of 
Tristan  music : — 

'  Pourquoi  nos  soirs  d'amour  n'ont-ils  toute  douceur, 
Que  si  Time  trop  pleine  en  lourds  sanglots  s'y  brise  ? 
La  Tristesse  nous  hante  avec  sa  robe  grise, 
Et  vit  a  nos  cote's  comme  une  grande  sceur.' — Douleur. 

Or  again  this  from  *  Ermione ' — 

'  Et  quand  je  te  quittai,  j'emportai  de  cette  heure, 
Du  ciel  et  de  tes  yeux,  de  ta  voix  et  du  temps, 
Un  mystere  a  traduire  en  mots  inconsistants, 

Le  charme  d'un  sourire  indefini  qui  pleure, 

Et  dans  Tame,  un  echo  d'automne  qui  demeure, 

Comme  un  sanglot  de  cor  perdu  sur  les  etangs.'  .  .  . 

And  the  same  humour  recurs  in  his  'Vieilles  Cloches,' 
'VasTristiticE':  — 

*  La  foi  des  nations  s'en  va,  pauvre  exilee. 
Le  mauvais  serviteur  commande  a  la  maison. 
L'etoile  du  berger  aussi  s'en  est  allee  ; 
Et  Notre-Dame  en  deuil  regarde,  inconsolee, 
Descendre  le  soleil  gothique  a  1'horizon. 

Une  lueur  encor  flotte,  a  s'eteindre  prompte, 

Rouge  adieu  sanglotant  des  pourpres  de  jadis. 

Nos  cceurs  ont  froid.     La  nuit  d'une  angoisse  nous  dompte.  .  .  . 

Ecoute  !  .  .  .  On  chante  les  derniers  de  Profundis. 

Et  voici  que  le  spleen,  le  spleen  lunaire  monte  ! ' 

Melancholy  remains  a  dominant  feature  of  Samain's 
poetry : — 

*  L'eau  musicale  et  triste  est  la  sceur  de  mon  reve. 
Ma  tasse  est  diaphane,  et  je  porte,  sans  fin, 
Un  cceur  melancolique  ou  la  lune  se  leve.' — Extreme-Orient. 

His  ideal  of  beauty  must  also  contain  something  of 
the  Baudelairian  mystery,  something  undefinable.  Like 
Verlaine,  he  would  claim  '  nous  ne  voulons  que  la  nuance 
encore.' 


204       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

*  Car  j'ai  1'amour  subtil  du  cre*puscule  fin ' 

(Extreme-Orient} 

he  says,  and  develops  the  same  idea  in  '  Dilection  ' : — 

1  J'adore  Pindecis,  les  sons,  les  couleurs  freles, 
Tout  ce  qui  tremble,  ondule,  et  frissonne,  et  chatoie, 
Les  cheveux  et  les  yeux,  1'eau,  les  feuilles,  la  sole 
Et  la  spiritualite  des  formes  greles  ;  .  .  . 

Et  tel  cceur  d'ombre  chaste,  embaum£  de  mystere, 
Ou  veille,  comme  le  rubis  d'un  lampadaire, 
Nuit  et  jour  un  amour  mystique  et  solitaire.' 

Samain  does  not  deny  the  beauty  of  the  more  joyous 
side  of  life  ;  he  tells  us  that  he  also  loves 

'  La  grand'rue  au  village,  un  dimanche  matin, 
La  vache  au  bord  de  Peau  toute  rose  d'aurore, 
La  fille  aux  claires  dents,  la  feuille  humide  encore, 
Et  le  divin  cristal  d'un  bel  ceil  enfantin.' 

This,  however,  is  not  the  aspect  that  appeals  to  him 
most  strongly : — 

4  Mais  je  prdfere  une  ame  a  Pombre  agenouille'e, 
Les  grands  bois  a  Pautomne  et  leur  odeur  mouille'e, 
La  route  ou  tinte  au  soir  un  grelot  de  chevaux, 
La  lune  dans  la  chambre  a  travers  les  rideaux, 
Une  main  pale  et  douce  et  lente  qui  se  pose, 
Deux  grands  yeux  pleins  d'un  feu  triste,  et  sur  toute  chose, 
Une  voix  qui  voudrait  sangloter  et  qui  n'ose.  .  .  .' 

Finally,  the  ideal  is  antiutilitarian  : — 

*  Je  suis  la  Coupe  d'or,  fille  du  temps  paien  ; 
Et  depuis  deux  mille  ans  je  garde,  a  jamais  pure, 
L'incorruptible  orgueil  de  ne  servir  a  rien.' 

The  portrayal  of  women  in  this  volume  is  copied  from 
Baudelaire.     A  good  example  is  the  poem  *  Une  * : — 

'  Sphynx  aux  yeux  d'emeraude,  ange*lique  vampire, 
Elle  reve  sous  Por  cruel  de  ses  frisons  ; 
La  rougeur  de  sa  bouche  est  pareille  aux  tisons. 
Ses  yeux  sont  faux,  son  cceur  est  faux,  son  amour  pire. 

Sous  son  front  dur  me'dite  un  songe  obscur  d'empire. 

Elle  est  la  fleur  superbe  et  froide  des  poisons, 

Et  le  p6ch6  mortel  aux  acres  floraisons, 

De  sa  chair  veneneuse  en  parfums  noirs  transpire. 


POSTERITY  205 

Stir  son  trone,  qu'un  art  sombre  sut  tourmenter, 

Immobile,  elle  ecoute  au  loin  se  lamenter 

La  mer  des  pauvres  coeurs  qui  saignent  ses  blessures  ; 

Et  bercee  aux  sanglots,  elle  songe,  et  parfois 
Brule  d'un  regard  lourd,  ou  couvent  des  luxures, 
L'iime  vierge  du  lys  qui  se  meurt  dans  ses  doigts.' 

This  is  an  attitude  which  scarcely  harmonises  with  the 
almost  Coventry  Patmore  tone  of  many  pieces  in  *  Aux 
Flancs  du  Vase.'  Those  features  of  Baudelairism  which 
Samain  merely  copied,  which  are,  in  him,  a  mere  pose, 
he  naturally  dropped  as  his  talent  became  more  mature. 
The  volumes  which  follow  Le  Jardin  de  I  Infante  have 
very  little  Baudelairism  in  them. 

In  his  later  poems  Samain  turned  for  inspiration  to 
Antiquity ;  he  breaks  away  again  from  Baudelairian 
tradition.  M.  Leon  Bocquet  quotes  from  a  letter  Samain 
wrote  to  M.  Paul  Morisse  (i6th  December  1896) : — 

'  The  antiquity  which  appeals  to  me  is  not  barbaric,  sinister,  nor 
rugged  like  that  in  Salammbo,  for  example,  or  Leconte  de  Lisle's 
work ;  it  is  rather  measured,  calm,  and  smiling  as  in  the  Homerides. 
Moreover  it  is  not  antiquity,  it  is  simply  the  harmonious  simple  spirit 
of  beauty  which  I  feel  antiquity  has  realised,  and  which  is  eternal 
as  the  limpidity  of  springs,  as  the  perfume  of  roses.' 

Which  is  quite  opposed  to  Baudelairian  tradition. 

Samain  lacked  the  force  of  Baudelaire  ;  he  is,  as  an 
English  critic  has  put  it,  'a  poet  of  fine  shades.'  His 
poetry — his  later  poetry  that  is — is  full  of  a  gentle 
sadness  which  is  another  thing  than  the  passionate 
disenchantment  of  Baudelaire.  He  summed  himself  up 
very  happily  in  the  lines  : — 

'  Mon  ame  est  un  velours  douloureux  que  tout  froisse  ; 
Et  je  sens,  en  mon  cceur  lourd  d'ineffable  angoisse, 
Je  ne  sais  quoi  de  doux,  qui  voudrait  bien  mourir.' 


206       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


X 

JULES   LAFORGUE 

M.  CAMILLE  MAUCLAIR  in  his  singularly  penetrating 
essay  on  Jules  Laforgue  places  him  among  that  class  of 
minds  whose  ruling  characteristic  is  what  he  names  la 
diversite  dans  I* unite. 

'Everything  tends  to  a  single  increase:  comprehension  by  means  of 
passion — there  is  no  idleness  in  them.  They  knock  at  all  the 
multitudinous  doors  of  feeling  through  which  a  new  aspect  of 
the  spiritual  city  is  to  be  seen,  and  one  meets  them  simultaneously 
on  all  the  roads  that  lead  thither.  .  .  .  He  (Laforgue)  appears 
indeed  to  be  of  that  race  of  writers  who  are  not  occupied  first  of  all 
with  collecting  their  faculties  of  expression  for  the  achievement  of  a 
work,  but  desire  above  all  to  compose  with  them  a  life  which  shall 
be  more  curious,  more  ornate,  more  conscious.  With  the  surplus  of 
their  mental  acquisitions,  and  their  means,  they  make  books  as  if  to 
show  others  what  is  going  on  inside  them.' 

Jules  Laforgue  accomplished  his  part  in  a  remarkably 
short  time.  He  was  born  in  August  of  1860,  and  was 
brought  up  in  Paris  till  he  was  called  to  Berlin  to  become 
reader  to  the  Empress  Augusta.  In  1886  he  relinquished 
this  employment  and  came  to  Paris,  with  high  hopes  of 
gaining  fame  and  fortune  through  his  writings,  and  of 
happiness  with  that  girl  who  skated  so  gracefully  in 
Berlin,  attracting  first  his  artistic  sense,  then  capturing  his 
heart — for  the  moment.  He  married  her  in  the  beginning 
of  the  year  1887 — there  was  but  short-lived  happiness. 
His  writings  from  the  commercial  standpoint  were  doomed 


POSTERITY  207 

to  failure.  He  was  consumptive,  and  poverty  rapidly 
aggravated  the  disease,  and  in  August  of  the  year  of  his 
marriage  he  died,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven. 

The  work  he  leaves  behind  consists  of  a  volume  of 
poems,  the  curious  prose  Moralites  Legendaires^  and  a 
few  fragmentary  critical  notes.  Though  small  in  bulk  it 
is  enough  to  show  us  a  highly  artistic  and  original  mind. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  Baudelaire  in  Jules  Laforgue. 
In  one  of  his  critical  notes  he  condemns  exaggeration,  and 
finds  in  this  the  great  drawback  of  Baudelaire's  disciples. 
1  Tous  ses  eleves,'  he  says,  '  ont  glisse  dans  le  paroxysme, 
dans  Thorrible  plat  comme  des  carabins  d'estaminets.' 

But  for  Baudelaire  himself  he  had  a  sincere  admiration. 
He  wrote  of  him  : — 

'  Baudelaire  may  be  a  cynic,  or  mad  :  he  is  never  gross  ;  there  is 
never  a  wrong  fold  in  the  impressions  in  which  he  clothes  himself. 
He  is  always  courteous  with  ugliness.  He  behaves  well.  .  .  .  His 
images  are  an  Anglo-American  importation  applied  to  the  Song  of 
Songs.  His  melancholy  the  void  of  the  man  of  letters  disgusted 
by  his  age,  and  who  has  been  born  idle  and  royal.' 

Which  is  acute  enough. 

Baudelaire's  influence  appears  directly  in  many  places 
in  Laforgue's  poems.  Here  is  all  the  Baudelairian  sense 
of  solitude : — 

'  Ah  !  ces  voix  dans  la  nuit  chantant  Noel !  Noel  ! 
M'apportent  de  la  nef  qui  Ik-bas  s'illumine 
Un  si  tendre,  un  si  doux  reproche  maternel, 
Que  mon  cceur  trop  gonfle*  creve  dans  ma  poitrine  .  .  . 
Et  j'ecoute  longtemps  les  cloches,  dans  la  nuit  .  .  . 
Je  suis  le  paria  de  la  famille  humaine, 
A  qui  le  vent  apporte  en  son  sale  reduit 
La  poignante  rumeur  d'une  fete  lointaine.' — Noel  Sceptique. 

What,  too,  could  be  more  Baudelairian  than  the 
Litanies  de  mon  sacre-cceur. 

1  Promethee  et  Vautour,  chatiment  et  blaspheme, 
Mon  cceur,  cancer  sans  cceur,  se  grignote  lui-meme. 


208       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Mon  cceur  est  une  urne  ou  j'ai  mis  certains  defunts, 

Oh  !  chut,  refrains  de  leurs  berceaux  !  et  vous  parfums  .  .  . 

Mon  cceur  est  un  lexique  ou  cent  litteratures 
Se  lardent  sans  repit  de  divines  ratures. 

Mon  coeur  est  un  ddsert  alte're,  bien  que  soul 
De  ce  vin  revomi,  1'universel  degout. 

Mon  coeur  est  un  N(£ron,  enfant  gate  d'Asie, 
Qui  d'empires  de  reve  en  vain  se  rassasie. 

Mon  cceur  est  un  noyd  vide  d'ame  et  d'essors, 
Qu'etreint  la  pieuvre  Spleen  en  ses  ventouses  d'or.  .  .  . 

Mon  cceur  est  une  horloge  oubliee  a  demeure, 

Qui,  me  sachant  ddfunt,  s'obstine  a  sonner  1'heure  !  .  .  .' 

And  this  again  : — 

'  Voici  venir  le  soir,  doux  au  vieillard  lubrique. 
Mon  chat  Miirr  accroupi  comme  un  sphinx  heraldique 
Contemple,  inquiet,  de  sa  prunelle  fantastique, 
Marcher  a  1'horizon  la  lune  chlorotique.  .  .  . 

Je  songe  aux  enfants  qui  partout  viennent  de  naitre, 
Je  songe  a  tous  les  morts  enterre's  d'aujourd'hui, 
Et  je  me  figure  etre  au  fond  du  cimetiere 
Et  me  mets  a  la  place,  en  entrant  dans  leur  biere, 
De  ceux  qui  vont  passer  Ik  leur  premiere  nuit.' 

Le  Sanglot  de  la  Terre.    La  premiere  Nuit. 

Is  this  not  a  complete  expression  of  the  Baudelairian 
conflicting  temperament?  Next  he  shows  us  the  same 
pessimism,  the  same  delight  in  indulging  in  melancholy : — 

'  L'extase  du  soleil,  peuh  !     La  Nature,  fade 
Usine  de  seve  aux  lymphatiques  parfums. 
Mais  les  lacs  eperdus  des  longs  couchants  defunts 
Dorlotent  mon  voilier  dans  leurs  plus  riches  rades 
Comme  un  ange  malade.  .  .  . 
O  Notre  Dame  des  Soirs, 
Que  je  vous  aime  sans  espoir.' 

There  is  the  same  restless  questioning  : — 

1  Tout  est-il  seul  ?     Ou  suis-je  ?     Ou  va  ce  bloc  qui  roule 
Et  m'emporte  ?    Et  je  puis  mourir  !  mourir  !  partir 
Sans  rien  savoir  !     Parlez  !  6  rage  !  et  le  temps  coule 
Sans  retour  1     Arretez,  arr£tez  !     Et  jouir  ? 


POSTERITY  209 

Car  j'ignore  tout,  moi  !  mon  heure  est  la  peut-etre  ? 

Je  ne  sais  pas  !     J'etais  de  la  nuit,  puis  je  nais. 

Pourquoi !     D'ou  1'univers  ?     Ou  va-t-il  ?  car  le  pretre 

N'est  qu'un  homme.     On  ne  salt  rien.     Montre-toi,  parais, 

Dieu,  tdmoin  eternel !     Parle  !  Pourquoi  la  vie  ? 

Tout  se  tait ! '  Eclair  de  gouffre. 

Which,  though  metaphysically  interesting,  is  scarcely 
poetry.  A  more  poetic  expression  of  these  ideas  occurs 
in  the  '  Nobles  et  touchantes  Divagations  sous  la  Lune  ' : — 

'  Un  chien  perdu  grelotte  en  abois  a  la  Lune.  .  .  . 
Oh  !  pourquoi  ce  sanglot  quand  nul  ne  Fa  battu  ? 
Et,  nuits  !  que  partout  la  meme  Ame  !  En  est-il  une 
Qui  n'aboie  a  1'exil  ainsi  qu'un  chien  perdu  ? 

Non,  non  ;  pas  un  caillou  qui  ne  reve  un  menage, 
Pas  un  soir  qui  ne  pleure  :  encore  un  aujourd'hui ! 
Pas  un  Moi  qui  n'ecume  aux  barreaux  de  sa  cage, 
Et  n'epluche  ses  jours  en  filaments  d'ennui.  .  .  . 

Infini,  d'ou  sors-tu  ?     Pourquoi  nos  sens  superbes 
Sont-ils  fous  d'au  dela  les  claviers  octroye's, 
Croient-ils  a  des  miroirs  plus  heureux  que  le  Verbe 
Et  se  tuent  ?     Infini,  montre  un  peu  tes  papiers.  .  .  . 

Une  place  plus  fraiche  a  Foreiller  des  fievres, 

Un  mirage  inedit  au  detour  du  chemin, 

Des  rampements  plus  fous  vers  le  bonheur  des  levres, 

Et  des  opiums  plus  longs  a  rever.     Mais  demain  ?' 

When  an  idealist  makes  too  great  demands  on  life, 
especially  when  an  ardent  curiosity  is  one  of  the  motive 
forces  of  his  existence,  disillusion  is  the  inevitable  con- 
sequence. We  have  seen  it  in  the  other  Baudelairians — 
we  find  it  again  in  Laforgue  : — 

'  Alors  le  grand  bouquet  tragique  de  la  Vie  ! 
Les  mornes  violets  des  disillusions, 
Les  horizons  tout  gris  de  1'orniere  suivie 
Et  les  tons  infernaux  de  nos  corruptions.3 

Sanglot  de  la  Terre.    Rosace  en  Vitrail. 

And  in  life  he  can  find  only  repeating  itself  the  same 
sad  story : — 

*  La  faim,  1'amour,  1'espoir  ...  la  maladie, 
Puis  la  mort,  c'est  toujours  la  meme  come'die.' 
O 


2io       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

That  the  idea  of  death  should  preoccupy  the  mind  of 
one  fated  to  meet  it  so  soon  is,  if  heartrending,  only 
natural.  Knowledge  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life  adds 
poignance  to  these  lines  :— 

*  Je  n'ai  fait  que  souffrir,  pour  toute  la  Nature, 
Pour  les  etres,  le  vent,  les  fleurs,  le  firmament, 
Souffrir  par  tous  mes  nerfs,  minutieusement, 
Souffrir  de  ne  pas  avoir  Tame  assez  pure. 
J'ai  crache  sur  1'amour  et  j'ai  tud  la  chair  ! 
Fou  d'orgueil,  je  me  suis  roidi  centre  la  vie  ! 
Et  seul,  sur  cette  Terre  a  1'Instinct  asservie, 
Je  defiais  PInstinct  avec  un  rire  amer.' 

Pour  le  livre  d?  amour. 

The  last  line  brings  us  naturally  to  another  side  of 
Laforgue's  character.  Like  Verlaine  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  il  ne  faut  pas  etre  dupe  dans  ce  farceur  de 
monde.  Like  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  he  took  refuge  in 

irony. 

'  Ah  !  tout  le  long  du  coeur, 
Un  vieil  ennui  m'efneure. 
M'est  avis  qu'il  est  1'heure 
De  renaitre  moqueur.' 

Imitation  de  Notre  Dame  de  la  Lune  VIII. 

It  was  in  this  humour  that  he  turned  to  write  his 
Moralites  Legendaires,  the  prose  part  of  his  work.  A  note 
from  his  diary  gives  us  an  insight  into  his  aim  here  : — 

'  Dreams  of  Writing. — To  write  a  prose  which  shall  be  very  clear, 
very  plain,  though  keeping  all  its  riches,  arranged  not  painfully  but 
simply,  French  such  as  Christ  would  have  spoken.  And  add  to  it 
pictures  taken  from  outside  our  French  repertory,  but  which  remain 
distinctly  human.  Pictures  like  those  of  Gaspard  Hauser,  who  has 
not  studied,  but  who  has  sounded  the  depths  of  death,  has  made  a 
study  of  natural  botany,  is  familiar  with  the  skies,  and  stars,  and 
animals,  and  colours,  and  streets,  and  all  good  things  such  as  cakes, 
tobacco,  kisses,  love.' 

In  the  Moralites  Legendaires — with  the  single  exception 
of  the  <  Miracle  des  Roses ' — Laforgue  retold  in  his  own 
manner  some  of  the  world's  great  stories,  retold  them 


POSTERITY  211 

with  his  own  modern  denouements,  with  a  most  enter- 
taining use  of  anachronism,  and  throughout  with  his 
delicate  elusive  irony,  lending  modern  motives  to  the 
ancient  themes. 

Salome  becomes  a  sort  of  metaphysician,  and  having 
achieved  her  desire  flings  herself  into  the  sea  with  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist,  who  himself  is  but  a  socialistic 
disciple  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  Elsa  is  portrayed  as 
a  rebellious  vestal  rescued  by  Lohengrin  who  is  at  once 
wearied  by  her  highly  pronounced  earthliness.  Andromeda 
is  rescued  by  a  Perseus  who  seems  just  like  a  Beardsley 
drawing  : — 

'  Perseus  comes  up  sitting  side-saddle,  his  feet  with  their  byssus 
sandals  coquettishly  crossed ;  from  his  saddle-bow  hangs  a  mirror. 
He  is  inert.  His  red  smiling  mouth  might  be  compared  to  a 
cut  pomegranate ;  a  pink  rose  in  the  hollow  of  his  chest  looks  like 
lacquer  ;  his  arms  are  tattooed  with  a  heart  pierced  by  an  arrow ;  a 
lily  is  painted  on  the  calf  of  his  leg ;  he  wears  an  emerald  monocle, 
a  number  of  rings  and  bracelets ;  from  his  golden  shield  hangs 
a  little  sword  with  pearl  hilt.' 

And  Andromeda  is  rescued  by  this  Perseus,  who  kills  the 
monster  who  guarded  her,  only  to  discover  that  it  was 
the  monster  that  she  loved. 

Hamlet  becomes  a  socialist  disciple  of  Hobbes.  Hear 
his  reflections  as  he  passes  a  crowd  of  the  poor — young  and 
old — coming  back  from  their  daily  sordid  tasks  : — 

'  Parbleu  ! '  thinks  Hamlet,  '  I  know  as  well  as  you,  if  not  better  ; 
the  existing  social  order  is  scandal  enough  to  suffocate  Nature. 
Myself,  I  am  nothing  but  a  feudal  parasite.  Still ! — they  are  born 
in  it,  that 's  an  old  story,  it  does  not  prevent  their  honeymoons  nor 
their  fear  of  death;  and  everything  is  good  which  has  no  end. 
Well  then,  yes !  Rise  up  one  day,  then  let  all  this  be  done  with ! 
Put  all  to  fire  and  sword.  Crush — like  fleas  of  insomnia — castes, 
religions,  ideas,  languages  !  Make  once  more  for  us  a  fraternal 
childhood  on  this  Earth  our  mother,  which  one  shall  go  to  feed 
upon  in  the  warm  countries.' 


212       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  what  could  be  more  characteristic  than  the  con- 
clusion of  these  reflections  : — 

*  Dans  les  Jardins 
De  nos  instincts 
Aliens  cueillir 
De  quoi  guerir.' 

The  soul  of  Jules  Laforgue  is  a  symbol  of  that  longing 
for  the  unknown  which  is  one  of  the  characteristic  features 
of  his  age.  As  M.  Mauclair  says,  there  was  something 
of  his  beloved  Hamlet  in  him  : — 

*  A  world  of  dreams  in  conflict  with  the  world  of  facts.  He  has 
not  to  avenge  his  father,  but  to  free  his  soul.  Ophelia  is  not  mad, 
but  woman  seems  to  him  inconsistent  and  too  limited  in  love  to 
suit  his  great  pity ;  and  if  he  does  not  kill  Polonius,  at  least  he 
recks  little,  like  that  other  Hamlet,  that  this  person  sees  the  wonders 
he  shows  him  in  the  clouds.' 


POSTERITY  213 


XI 

LIVING   POETS 

WE  have  now  traced  the  influence  of  the  Baudelairian 
spirit  in  France  fairly  near  to  the  present  day,  and  the 
question  arises  of  where  to  stop.  It  seemed  to  us  better 
not  to  endeavour  to  make  a  detailed  study  of  living  poets. 

The  work  of  some  of  the  older  living  poets  has  already 
its  definite  features,  while  that  of  some  of  the  younger  is 
still  in  course  of  development,  and  we  can  have  no  certain 
knowledge  of  its  final  temper,  since  *  mankind  are  not 
pieces.' 

Certain  it  is  that  the  influence  of  Baudelaire  is  still  at 
work. 

The  early  work  of  Leon  Cladel  (1835-        )  shows  it. 

The  poems  of  another  Belgian,  Emile  Verhaeren 
0855-  )  are  full  of  Baudelairism.  He  has  the  same 
self-conscious  deliberate  disenchantment,  the  same  highly 
developed  sensitiveness  to  the  surrounding  universe. 

*  Un  flambeau  qu'on  deplace,  une  etoffe  qu'on  froisse, 
Un  trou  qui  te  regarde,  un  craquement  moqueur, 
Quelqu'un  qui  passe  et  qui  revient  et  qui  repasse 
Te  feront  tressaillir  de  frissons  instinctifs  ; 
Et  tu  te  vetiras  d'une  inedite  audace  ; 
D'autres  sens  te  naitront,  subtils  et  maladifs, 
Us  renouvelleront  ton  etre  use  de  rages.  .  .  .' 

Which  is  Poesque  already,  and  still  more  so  is  this  from 
*  Les  Rideaux,'  which  also  compels  comparison  with  Baude- 
laire's *  Chambre  Double '  and  much  of  Rodenbach  : — 


2i4       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  Je  sais  de  vieux  et  longs  rideaux, 
Avec  des  fleurs  et  des  oiseaux, 
Avec  des  fleurs  et  des  jardins 
Et  des  oiseaux  incarnadins  ; 
De  beaux  rideaux  si  doux  de  joie, 
Aux  mornes  fronts  profonds 
Qu'on  roule  en  leurs  baisers  de  sole. 

Les  miens,  ils  sont  hargneux  de  leurs  chimeres, 
Us  sont,  mes  grands  rideaux,  couleur  de  cieux, 

Un  firmament  silencieux 
De  signes  fous  et  de  haines  ramaires. 

Mon  ame  est  une  proie 
Avec  du  sang  et  de  grands  trous 
Pour  les  betes  d'or  et  de  soie, 
Mon  ame,  elle  est  beante  et  pantelante, 
Elle  n'est  que  loques  et  dechirures 
Ou  ces  betes,  k  coupables  armures 
D'ailes  en  flamme  et  de  rostres  ouverts, 
Mordent  leur  faim  par  au  travers.  .  .  .' 

Nor  is  the  macabre  humour  wanting  in  Verhaeren. 
Here  is  a  lusty  descendant  of  *  The  Conqueror  Worm'  and 
*  La  Charogne ' : — 

'  Mes  Doigts,  touchez  mon  front  et  cherchez  Ik, 
Les  vers  qui  rongeront,  un  jour,  de  leur  morsure, 
Mes  chairs  ;  touchez  mon  front,  mes  maigres  doigts,  voilk 
Que  mes  veines  deja,  comme  une  meurtrissure 
Bleuatre,  dtrangement,  en  font  le  tour,  mes  las 
Et  pauvres  doigts — et  que  vos  longs  ongles  malades 
Battent,  sinistrement,  sur  mes  tempes,  un  glas, 
Un  pauvre  glas,  mes  lents  et  mornes  doigts  ! ' 

Mes  Doigts. 

He  has  the  same  ideal  of  aloofness,  like  a  monk  alone 
with  his  contemplation,  and  the  other  great  refuge  from 
prosaic  reality — his  art. 

The  work  of  Maeterlinck  and  his  school — which  to  study 
would  lead  us  too  far  into  the  consideration  of  modern 
mysticism — is  an  outcome  of  the  Baudelairian  search  after 
the  discovery  of  'Correspondance,'  and  did  not  Maeter- 
linck himself  say,  *  Tout  ce  que  j'ai,  je  le  dois  a  Villiers '  ? 


POSTERITY  215 

Before  leaving  Belgium  we  will  mention  a  curious 
Baudelairian  study  by  Edmond  Picard  (1836-  )  which 
appeared  in  1893,  entitled  Le  Jure.  The  interesting  part 
of  this  ' scene  from  judicial  life'  is  the  preface  in  the 
form  of  a  note  on  what  Picard  calls  the  Fantastique  Reel 
— the  fantastic  being  le  bizarre  dans  Veffrayant^  which  can 
exist  in  imagination  (Imaginative  Fantastique) ,  or  in  reality 
(Fantastique  Reel). 

Since  Baudelaire  no  stronger  plea  has  been  made  for 
mystery  : — 

'A  mystery  is  the  most  profound  thing  for  exciting  human 
emotion.  If  you  wish  to  be  interesting  always,  never  let  yourself  be 
thoroughly  known.  Nature  herself  has  this  skill  in  her  works.  .  .  . 
Let  there  remain  enigma,  undecipherable  in  some  aspect  and 
tormenting — tormenting — tormenting.  .  .  .  There  is  a  sigh  in  the 
passage  .  .  .  the  wind.  There  is  a  creaking  in  the  woodwork.  ...  I 
am  moved.  A  string  of  the  piano  breaks,  and  vibrates  in  its  closed 
case.  One  by  one  the  petals  fall  from  a  rose  sleeping  in  a  vase. 
All  this  is  strange.  .  .  .' 

Finally,  the  early  work  of  Stuart  Merrill  sounds  from 
time  to  time  the  Baudelairian  note.  In  his  piece  '  Oubli ' 
it  is  strong : — 

OUBLI 

i 

'  Mon  cceur,  6  ma  Chimere,  est  une  cathedrale 
Ou  mes  chastes  pensers,  idolatres  du  Beau, 
S'en  viennent,  a  minuit,  sous  la  flamme  lustrale, 
Raler  leur  requiem  au  pied  de  ton  tombeau. 

J'ai  dressd,  sous  le  ciel  du  dome  un  sarcophage, 
Dont  la  grave  e'pitaphe,  en  strophes  de  granit, 
Proclamera  de  Paube  k  1'ombre,  d'age  en  age, 
L'amen  et  1'hosanna  de  notre  amour  bdnit. 

II 

Mon  coeur  est  une  crypte  ou,  parmi  les  pilastres, 
S'enroulent  les  remous  de  1'encens  des  oublis, 
Et  vers  1'heure  qui  luit  de  la  lueur  des  astres 
La  paix  des  nuits  se  mire  en  les  paves  polis. 


216      THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Sur  le  carrare  froid  des  marches  sepulcrales, 
Dejk  mes  vieux  pensers  sont  panic's  de  sommeil ; 
Les  lampadaires  d'or  s'endorment  en  spirales, 
Et,  6  la  glauque  aurore  en  le  vitrail  vermeil ! ' 

He,  too,  fell  under  the  spell  of  la  meille  volupte  de  rever 
a  la  mort,  and  of  seeking  a  lurking  sadness  in  nature. 

*  Sous  le  souffle  etouffe  des  vents  ensorceleurs 
J'entends  sourdre  sous  bois  les  sanglots  et  les  reves.  .  .  .' 

And  in  his  Refrains  melancoliques,  where  his  theme  is 
V ineffable  horreur  des  etes  somnolents  and  Vindicible  effroi 
des  somnolents  hivers,  the  Baudelairian  ennui  once  more 
finds  expression  : — 

*  J'ai  demand^  la  mort  aux  etes  somnolents, 
Ou  les  lilas  au  long  des  jardins  s'alanguissent, 
Et  les  zephyrs,  soupirs  de  dormeurs  indolents, 
Sur  les  fleurs  de  rubis  et  d'emeraude  glissent. 

Mais  oh  !  les  revoici,  les  memes  avenirs  ! 

Les  etes  ont  relui  sur  la  terre  ravie, 

Et  les  vieilles  amours  et  les  vieux  souvenirs 

De  nouveau  pleins  d'horreur  sont  venus  k  la  vie.' 

In  the  concluding  stanzas  the  note  is  even  stronger : — 

'  J'ai  demande  la  vie  aux  somnolents  hivers, 
Ou  les  neiges  aux  cieux  s'en  vont  comme  des  reves.  .  .  . 

Mais  j'ai  vu  revenir  les  memes  avenirs  : 

Les  hivers  ont  neige"  sur  le  sein  de  la  terre, 

Et  les  vieilles  amours  et  les  vieux  souvenirs, 

De  nouveau,  fous  d'effroi,  sont  morts  dans  le  mystere. 

Toujours  vivre  et  mourir,  revivre  et  remourir  1 
N'est-il  pas  de  N^ant  final  qui  nous  d&ivre  ? 
Mourir  et  vivre,  6  Temps,  remourir  et  revivre  ! 
Jusqu'aux  soleils  eteints  nous  faudra-t-il  souffrir  ? ' 

But  the  temper  of  his  poetry  has  changed  since  then. 
Stuart  Merrill  is,  indeed,  an  example  in  favour  of  not 
including  living  poets  in  this  study. 


PART   V 


THE    BAUDELAIRIAN    SPIRIT 
IN    ENGLAND 

I 
INTRODUCTORY 

WHEN  we  come  to  study  Baudelairism  in  England,  we 
would  call  to  mind  that  saying  of  Stendhal :  '  Just  as  the 
sun  is  warmer  and  prudery  weaker  in  Milan  than  in 
London,  there  is  more  passion  and  more  gaiety  in  the 
Cafe 1  than  in  the  Spectator  \ ' 

In  the  same  way  Baudelairism  in  England  cannot  be 
the  same  thing  as  in  France  ;  it  meets  with  a  different 
national  temper,  a  different  demand  is  made  on  art.  As 
Mr.  Arthur  Machen  has  well  put  it : — 

'  In  Paris  it  is  agreed  that  imagination  and  fantasy  are  to  work  as 
they  will  and  as  they  can,  and  are  to  be  judged  by  their  own  laws. 
He  who  carves  gargoyles  admirably  is  praised  for  his  curious  excel- 
lence in  the  invention  and  execution  of  these  grinning  monsters ; 
and  if  he  is  blamed  it  is  for  bad  carving,  and  not  because  he  failed 
to  produce  pet  lambs ;  we  lay  stress  on  usefulness  and  serious  aims, 
and  Imagination  itself  is  expected  to  improve  the  occasion,  to 
reform  while  it  entertains,  and  to  instruct  under  the  guise  of 
story-telling.' 

The  *  heresy  of  the  didactic '  has  enjoyed  a  longer  life 
in  England  than  in  any  other  country,  and  even  now 
shows  no  great  signs  of  failing  strength. 

The  modern  movement  whose  aim  is  to  see  the  world 

1  The  Cafty  newspaper  published  by  Verri  in  Milan. 

219 


220       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

in  beauty  begins  in  England  with  Shelley,  and  when  the 
Baudelairian  influence,  or  the  Symbolist  influence,  enters 
into  English  literature  it  is  through  the  influence  of 
Shelley,  hand  in  hand  with  the  influence  of  Shelley  that 
it  works.  Baudelaire  himself  admired  Shelley  ;  Mallarme 
was  professor  of  English. 

The  poetry  of  Shelley  comes  as  a  reaction  against 
the  introduction  of  the  commonplace  as  effected  by 
Wordsworth,  though  it  by  no  means  destroyed  that 
influence,  which  breathes  to-day  in  Mr.  Arthur  Symons' 

line — 

'  Farmyards  a  fluster  with  pigs — ' 

just  as  in  that  line  of  Arthur  Hugh  Clough  which  Richard 
Hutton  quoted  with  such  enthusiastic  admiration  in  the 
Spectator,  describing  the  dairymaid  : — 

*  Stately  with  well  poised  pail  moving  on  to  the  pump  or  the  farmyard.' 

Now,  Shelley  on  his  philosophic  side  reacts  against  this 
spirit  as  a  Baudelairian  avant  la  lettre. 

He  has  the  same  interest  in  the  ideal  world.  In  him 
we  find  those  ideas  which  recur  at  their  highest  expres- 
sion in  Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam  :  '  the  universe  is  the 
creation  of  the  mind/  'All  things  exist  as  they  are  per- 
ceived,'and  poetry  is  *  the  creation  of  actions  according  to 
the  unchangeable  process  of  human  nature  as  existing  in 
the  mind  of  the  Creator,  which  is  itself  the  image  of  all 
other  minds.' 

'  All  that  we  see  or  seem 
Is  but  a  dream  within  a  dream,' 

wrote  Edgar  Poe,  and  thus  Shelley  :— 

1  In  this  life 

Of  terror,  ignorance  and  strife, 
Where  nothing  is,  but  all  things  seem, 
And  we  the  shadow  of  the  dream.' 

The  idea  is  very  old  :  ovaa?  ovap  avOpcoTroi,  said  Pindar, 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    221 

but  none  the  less  sincerely  does  Mallarme  declare  that  we 
are  '  La  triste  opacite  de  nos  spectres  futurs.' 

Shelley  has,  too,  a  Baudelairian  keen  perception  of  the 
limits  of  utility  : — 

'  Whilst  the  mechanist  abridges  and  the  political  economist  com- 
bines labour,  let  them  beware  that  their  speculation  for  want  of 
correspondence  with  those  first  principles  which  belong  to  the 
imagination,  do  not  tend  as  they  have  in  modern  England  to 
exasperate  at  once  the  extremes  of  luxury  and  of  want.  .  .  .  The 
rich  have  become  richer,  and  the  poor  fyave  become  poorer,  and 
the  vessel  of  the  state  is  driven  between  the  Scylla  and  Charybdis 
of  anarchy  and  despotism.  Such  are  the  effects  which  must  ever 
flow  from  an  unmitigated  exercise  of  the  calculating  faculty.' 

This  is  an  argument  against  practical  utility — against 
the  utilitarian  aim  of  literature  ;  the  whole  of  his  justifica- 
tion of  poetry  as  the  creator  of  beauty  is  an  argument. 

There  is  another,  and  less  known  Baudelairian  side  of 
Shelley — the  side  that  found  pleasure  in  cultivating  weird 
fancies,  when  he  and  his  sister-in-law  in  their  nocturnal 
experiments  in  Italy  screwed  up  their  nerves  to  such  a 
tension  that  they  were  unable  to  leave  the  room  they  were 
in,  through  sheer  physical  fear  of  what  they  might  see 
the  other  side  of  the  door. 

There  is  something  of  Shelley  in  Poe,  not  only  from 
the  musical  point  of  view. 

But  Shelley  apart,  we  are  able  to  trace  in  England  a 
direct  influence  of  Baudelaire.  It  is  distinct  in  Swin- 
burne, in  Arthur  O'Shaughnessy,  in  Oscar  Wilde,  in 
that  curious  figure  Aubrey  Beardsley,  of  whom  we  will 
speak  when  we  come  to  consider  Baudelairism  in  paint- 
ing, and  is  still  continuing  to  make  itself  felt  in  contem- 
porary writers. 


222       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

II 
SWINBURNE 

IT  is  a  mere  commonplace  to  remark  that  Swinburne's 
early  poetry  at  the  time  it  appeared  was  something 
entirely  new  in  English  poetry. 

The  new  feature  was  the  carrying  into  perfect  practice  of 
the  art-for-art  theory,  the  preoccupation  of  pure  sensuous 
beauty  ;  and  this  aim,  so  different  from  that  of  Swin- 
burne's immediate  predecessors,  can,  I  think,  only  be 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  Swinburne  was  greatly 
influenced  by  the  French  poets.1  Hugo,  Gautier,  Baude- 
laire inspired  him  with  a  great  and  lasting  enthusiasm. 
The  brilliant  oratory  of  Hugo,  the  exquisite  craftsmanship 
of  Gautier,  the  strange  unreal  atmosphere,  the  *  new  sins ' 
of  Baudelaire,  all  these  left  their  stamp  on  the  early  genius 
of  Swinburne.  We  have  only  to  deal  with  his  relation  to 
the  last  named  of  these  French  poets. 

Of  his  admiration  for  Baudelaire  Swinburne  left  us 
definite  and  explicit  proof  in  the  '  Ave  atque  Vale,'  written 
in  memory  of  Baudelaire.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
of  Swinburne's  achievements,  worthy  to  be  ranked  with 
the  great  elegies  of  our  language — with  Lycidas,  with 
Adonais,  with  Thyrsis.  We  quote  a  stanza  or  two  : — 

*  Thou  sawest,  in  thine  old  singing  season,  brother, 
Secrets  and  sorrows  unbeheld  of  us  : 

1  It  is  interesting  to  remember  that  Swinburne  was  of  French  descent.  In  a 
letter  to  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman,  Feb.  2O,  1875,  he  writes :  '  My  father,  Admiral 
Swinburne,  is  the  second  son  of  Sir  John  Swinburne,  a  person  whose  life  would 
be  better  worth  writing  than  mine.  Born  and  brought  up  in  France,  his  father 
(I  believe)  a  naturalised  Frenchman  (we  were  all  Catholic  and  Jacobite  rebels 
and  exiles),  and  his  mother  a  lady  of  the  house  of  Polignac  (a  quaint  political 
relationship  for  me,  as  you  will  admit),  my  grandfather  never  left  France  till 
25  .  .  .  '  etc. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     223 

Fierce  loves,  and  lovely  leaf-buds  poisonous, 
Bare  to  thy  subtler  eye,  but  for  none  other 
Blowing  by  night  in  some  unbreathed-in  clime  ; 
The  hidden  harvest  of  luxurious  time, 
Sin  without  shape,  and  pleasure  without  speech ; 
And  where  strange  dreams  in  a  tumultuous  sleep 
Make  the  shut  eyes  of  stricken  spirits  weep  ; 
And  with  each  face  thou  sawest  the  shadow  on  each, 
Seeing  as  men  sow  men  reap.  .  .  . 

Alas,  but  though  my  flying  song  flies  after, 

O  sweet  strange  elder  singer,  thy  more  fleet 

Singing,  and  footprints  of  thy  fleeter  feet, 

Some  dim  derision  of  mysterious  laughter 

From  the  blind  tongueless  warders  of  the  dead, 

Some  gainless  glimpse  of  Proserpine's  veiled  head, 

Some  little  sound  of  unregarded  tears 

Wept  by  effaced  unprofitable  eyes, 

And  from  pale  mouths  some  cadence  of  dead  sighs — 

These  only,  these  the  hearkening  spirit  hears, 

Sees  only  such  things  rise.  .  .  . 

And  now  no  sacred  staff  shall  break  in  blossom, 

No  choral  salutation  lure  to  light 

A  spirit  sick  with  perfume  and  sweet  night 

And  love's  tired  eyes  and  hands  and  barren  bosom. 

There  is  no  help  for  these  things  ;  none  to  mend 

And  none  to  mar  ;  not  all  our  songs,  O  friend, 

Will  make  death  clear  or  make  life  durable. 

Howbeit  with  rose  and  ivy  and  wild  vine, 

And  with  wild  notes  about  this  dust  of  thine, 

At  least  I  fill  the  place  where  white  dreams  dwell, 

And  wreathe  an  unseen  shrine. 

Sleep  ;  and  if  life  was  bitter  to  thee,  pardon, 

If  sweet,  give  thanks  ;  thou  hast  no  more  to  live  ; 

And  to  give  thanks  is  good,  and  to  forgive. 

Out  of  the  mystic  and  the  mournful  garden 

Where  all  day  through  thine  hands  in  barren  braid 

Wove  the  sick  flowers  of  secrecy  and  shade, 

Green  buds  of  sorrow  and  sin,  and  remnants  grey, 

Sweet-smelling,  pale  with  poison,  sanguine-hearted, 

Passions  that  sprang  from  sleep  and  thoughts  that  started, 

Shall  death  not  bring  us  all  as  thee  one  day 

Among  the  days  departed  ? ' 


224       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

These  verses  alone  would  prove  Swinburne  a  Baude- 
lairian.  But  let  us  push  comparison  further.  In  the 
first  place,  Swinburne's  early  poetry  is  Baudelairian  in 
its  '  aristocracy ' ;  like  Baudelaire,  Swinburne  found  no 
beauty  in  the  commonplace,  but  only  in  the  exceptional — 
in  the  unreal  even.  It  is  of  course  obvious  that  the  later 
work  (and  some  of  that  only  a  very  little  later  with  its 
socialistic  preoccupation — a  flagrant  contradiction  to  the 
art-for-art  theory)  is  in  this  totally  un-Baudelairian.  And 
the  same  must  be  said  of  the  love  poems,  though  it  should  be 
remarked  that  the  fact  that  Swinburne  is  the  one  modern 
English  poet  who  has  artistically  celebrated  the  more  terres- 
trial aspect  of  love  is  probably  due  to  French  influence. 

Un-Baudelairian  again  is  his  physical  delight  in  Nature. 
No  one  has  sung  more  finely  the  joy  of  contact  with  the 
sea.1  Swinburne  is  like  the  Greeks  in  this  who  'knew 
that  the  sea  was  for  the  swimmer  and  the  sand  for  the  feet 
of  the  runner.'  Baudelaire,  on  the  contrary,  has  all  the 
Roman  mistrust  of  the  sea.  Hear  him  : — 

*  Homme  libre,  toujours  tu  cheriras  la  mer. 

La  mer  est  ton  miroir  ;  tu  contemples  ton  ame 

Dans  le  deroulement  infini  de  sa  lame, 

Et  ton  esprit  n'est  pas  un  gouffre  moins  amer. 

Vous  etes  tous  les  deux  tenet>reux  et  discrets  : 
Homme,  nul  n'a  sonde  le  fond  de  tes  abimes, 
O  mer,  nul  ne  connait  tes  richesses  intimes, 
Tant  vous  etes  jaloux  de  garder  vos  secrets  ! 

Et  cependant  voila  des  siecles  innombrables 
Que  vous  vous  combattez  sans  pitie'  ni  remord, 
Tellement  vous  aimez  le  carnage  et  la  mort, 
O  lutteurs  eternels,  6  freres  implacables  ! ' 

In   one   passage   Baudelaire    does   touch   on   another 

aspect : — 

*  La  mer,  la  vaste  mer,  console  nos  labeurs  ! 
Quel  demon  a  dote  la  mer  rauque  chanteuse 

1  As  James  Douglas  says :  '  No  other  poet  has  sung  it  so  sincerely  and  so 
spontaneously.  .  .  .  Even  Byron  addresses  the  ocean  as  if  it  were  a  public 
meeting.' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     225 

Qu'accompagne  1'immense  orgue  des  vents  grondeurs, 
De  cette  fonction  sublime  de  berceuse  ? 
La  mer,  la  vaste  mer,  console  nos  labeurs  ! ' 

But  Swinburne's  physical  enjoyment  is  entirely  lacking. 

Yet  Baudelaire  was,  with  Swinburne,   Greek,  in  that 

he,    too,  delighted  in  the  contemplation  of  that  beauty 

which  is  l  noble  and  nude  and  antique/     Here  are  his 

words  : — 

'  J'aime  le  souvenir  de  ces  epoques  nues, 
Dont  Phoebus  se  plaisait  a  dorer  les  statues. 

Nous  avons,  il  est  vrai,  nations  corrompues, 
Aux  peuples  anciens  des  beautes  inconnues  : 
Des  visages  ronges  par  les  chancres  du  coeur, 
Et  comme  qui  dirait  des  beautes  de  langueur ; 
Mais  ces  inventions  de  nos  muses  tardives 
N'empecheront  jamais  les  races  maladives 
De  rendre  a  la  jeunesse  un  hommage  profond, 
— A  la  sainte  jeunesse,  a  1'air  simple,  au  doux  front, 
A  1'ceil  limpide  et  clair  ainsi  qu'une  eau  courante, 
Et  qui  va  repandant  sur  tout,  insouciante, 
Comme  1'azur  du  ciel,  les  oiseaux  et  les  fleurs, 
Ses  parfums,  ses  chansons,  et  ses  douces  chaleurs  ! ' 

Swinburne's  idea  of  extracting  '  exceeding  pleasure  out 
of  extreme  pain  '  (Laus  Veneris)  is  a  Baudelairian  one, 
and  so  is  the  vaunted  discovery  of  a  new  sin,  from  the 
same  poem  : — 

1  Yea,  with  red  sins  the  faces  of  them  shine  ; 
But  in  all  these  there  was  no  sin  like  mine  ; 
No,  not  in  all  the  strange  great  sins  of  them 
That  made  the  wine-press  froth  and  foam  with  wine.' 

If  it  be  urged,  on  the  one  hand,  that  no  English  poet 
painted  in  more  glowing  colours  the  attractions  of  vice, 
it  should  also  be  remembered  that  no  poet  presented 
with  more  power  its  consequences  (which  is  also  what 
Baudelaire  did) : — 

*  Death  laughs,  breathing  close  and  relentless 
In  the  nostrils  and  eyelids  of  lust, 
With  a  pinch  in  his  fingers  of  scentless 
And  delicate  dust.5 
P 


226       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Indeed,  the  whole  of  '  Dolores,'  as  Mr.  James  Douglas 
well  puts  it,  is  a  '  passionate  revelation  of  the  pain  of 
pleasure,  the  ennui  of  evil  and  the  satiety  of  sin.' 

He  shared  with  Baudelaire  again  that  conception — 
common  to  all  the  nineteenth-century  thinkers — of  a 
universe  hostile  to  man  : — 

'  Men  are  the  heart-beats  of  man,  the  plumes  that  feather  his  wings, 
Storm-worn  since  being  began  with  the  wind  and  thunder  of  things, 
Things  are  cruel  and  blind  ;  their  strength  detains  and  deforms  : 
And  the  wearying  wings  of  the  mind  still  beat  up  the  stream  of  their 

storms. 

Still,  as  one  swimming  up  stream,  they  strike  out  blind  in  the  blast 
In  thunders  of  vision  and  dream,  and  light  wings  of  future  and  past.' 

This  is  an  oft-recurring  note  in  Swinburne  ;  it  is  in  the 
pessimism  of  the  *  Ballad  of  Burdens,'  it  is  in  the  famous 
*  Atalanta '  chorus  : — 

4  Before  the  beginning  of  years 

There  came  to  the  making  of  man 
Time,  with  a  gift  of  tears  ; 

Grief,  with  a  glass  that  ran  ; 
Pleasure,  with  pain  for  leaven  ; 

Summer,  with  flowers  that  fell  ; 

Remembrance  fallen  from  heaven, 

And  madness  risen  from  hell.' 

And  its  closing  epitome  of  the  destiny  of  man  : — 
'  In  his  heart  is  a  blind  desire, 
In  his  eyes  foreknowledge  of  death  ; 
He  weaves  and  is  clothed  with  derision, 
Sows,  and  he  shall  not  reap  ; 
His  life  is  a  watch  or  a  vision 
Between  a  sleep  and  a  sleep.' 

Or  again,  in  *  Lamentation,' 

*  Nor  less  of  grief  than  ours 
The  gods  wrought  long  ago 
To  bruise  men  one  by  one  ; 
But  with  the  incessant  hours 
Fresh  grief  and  greener  woe 
Spring  as  the  sudden  sun 
Year  after  year  makes  flowers  ; 
And  these  die  down  and  grow, 
And  the  next  year  lacks  none,' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    227 

which  has  a  Baudelairian  ring,  and  in  it  a  reminiscence  of 
Shelley  :- 

*  As  long  as  skies  are  blue  and  fields  are  green 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow, 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow.' 

Above  all,  the  humour  of  Baudelaire's  Revolte  is  to  be 
found  very  strong  in  Swinburne.  Examples  abound. 
Take  first  this  from  the  'Hymn  of  Man  '  :— - 

'  Thou  madest  man  in  the  garden  ;  thou  temptest  man,  and  he  fell  ; 
Thou  gavest  him  poison  for  pardon  for  blood  and  burnt-offering  to  sell. 
Thou  hast  sealed  thine  elect  to  salvation,  fast  locked  with  faith  for  the 

key, 

Make  now  for  thyself  expiation,  and  be  thine  atonement  for  thee. 
Ah,  thou  that  darkenest  heaven— ah,  thou  that  bringest  a  sword, 
By  the  crimes  of  thine  hands  unforgiven  they  beseech  thee  to  hear  them, 

O  Lord.  .  .  . 

O  thou  hast  built  thee  a  shrine  of  the  madness  of  man  and  his  shame, 
And  hast  hung  in  the  midst  for  a  sign  of  his  worship  the  lamp  of  thy 

name, 
Thou  hast  shown  him  for  heaven  in  a  vision  a  void  world's  shadow  and 

shell, 
And  hast  fed  thy  delight  and  derision  with  fire  of  belief  as  of  hell,'  etc. 

Or  again,  in  the  '  Marching  Song'  : — 

4  Earth  gives  us  thorns  to  tread, 

And  all  her  thorns  are  trod  ; 
Through  lands  burnt  black  and  red 

We  pass  with  feet  unshod, 
Whence  we  would  be  man  shall  not  keep  us  nor  man's  God.' 

And   again   in   '  Atalanta,'  where  Atalanta   says   of  the 

gods  :— 

'  Lo,  where  they  heal,  they  help  not ;  thus  they  do, 
They  mock  us  with  a  little  piteousness, 
And  we  say  prayers,  and  weep  ;  but  at  the  last, 
Sparing  awhile  they  smite  and  spare  no  whit.' 

And  in  the  still  more  famous  passage  on   '  The  supreme 
evil,  God ' : — 

*  Yea  with  thine  hate,  O  God,  thou  hast  covered  us, 
One  saith,  and  hidden  our  eyes  away  from  sight, 
And  made  us  transitory  and  hazardous, 

Light  things  and  slight ; 
Yet  have  men  praised  thee,  saying,  "  He  hath  made  men  thus," 


228       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  he  doeth  right. 

Thou  hast  kissed  us,  and  hast  smitten  ;  thou  hast  laid 
Upon  us  with  thy  left  hand  life,  and  said, 
Live  :  and  again  thou  hast  said,  Yield  up  your  breath, 
And  with  thy  right  hand  laid  upon  us  death. 
Thou  hast  sent  us  sleep,  and  stricken  sleep  with  dreams, 
Saying,  Joy  is  not,  but  love  of  joy  shall  be  ; 
Thou  hast  made  them  bitter  with  the  sea. 
Thou  hast  fed  one  rose  with  the  dust  of  many  men  ; 
Thou  hast  marred  one  face  with  fire  of  many  tears  ; 
Thou  hast  taken  love,  and  given  us  sorrow  again  ; 
With  pain  thou  hast  filled  us  full  to  the  eyes  and  ears. 
Therefore  because  thou  art  strong,  our  Father,  and  we 
Feeble  ;  and  thou  art  against  us,  and  thine  hand 
Constrains  us  in  the  shallows  of  the  sea, 
And  breaks  us  at  the  limits  of  the  land.  s  .  . 

Because  thou  art  over  all  who  are  over  us  ; 
Because  thy  name  is  life,  and  our  name  death  ; 
Because  thou  art  cruel,  and  men  are  piteous  ; 
And  our  hands  labour,  and  thine  hand  scattereth  ; 
Lo,  with  hearts  rent  and  knees  made  tremulous, 
Lo,  with  ephemeral  lips  and  casual  breath, 

At  least  we  witness  of  thee  ere  we  die 
That  these  things  are  not  otherwise,  but  thus  ; 
That  each  man  in  his  heart  sigheth  and  saith, 

That  all  men  even  as  I, 
All  we  are  against  thee,  against  thee,  O  God  most  high. 

But  ye,  keep  ye  on  earth 
Your  lips  from  over  speech, 
Loud  words  and  longings  are  so  little  worth  ; 
And  the  end  is  hard  to  reach.  .  .  .' 

Examples  could  be  multiplied  ;  we  will  only  quote  from 
*  Anactoria ' : — 

'  For  who  shall  change  with  prayers  or  thanksgivings 
The  mystery  of  the  cruelty  of  things  ?  .  .  . 
Hath  he  not  sent  us  hunger?  who  hath  cursed 
Spirit  and  flesh  with  longing  ?  filled  with  thirst 
Their  lips  who  cried  unto  him  ?  who  bade  exceed 
The  fervid  will,  fall  short  the  feeble  deed, 
Bade  sink  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  aspire, 
Pain  animate  the  dust  of  dead  desire, 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     229 

And  life  yield  up  her  flower  to  violent  fate  ? 
Him  would  I  reach,  him  smite,  him  desecrate, 
Pierce  the  cold  lips  of  God  with  human  breath, 
And  mix  his  immortality  with  death.  .  .  .'  etc. 

And  in  '  A  Reminiscence '  sounds  the  more  con- 
templative note  of  Baudelairian  doubt : — 

*  Day  to  night 

Calls  wailing,  and  life  to  death,  and  depth  to  height, 
And  soul  upon  soul  of  man  that  hears  and  grieves. 

Who  knows,  though  he  sees  the  snow-cold  blossom  shed, 

If  haply  the  heart  that  burned  within  the  rose, 

The  spirit  in  sense,  the  life  of  life  be  dead  ? 

If  haply  the  wind  that  slays  the  storming  snows 

Be  one  with  the  wind  that  quickens  ?     Bow  thine  head, 

O  Sorrow,  and  commune  with  thine  heart — who  knows  ? ' 

Relief  from  this  restlessness  could  be  found  as  Baude- 
laire knew  by  losing  oneself  in  dreams,  or  in  art,  but 
above  all  the  great  calmer  is  Death  : — 

'  O  Mort,  vieux  capitaine,  il  est  temps  !  levons  1'ancre  ! 
Ce  pays  nous  ennuie,  O  Mort !  appareillons  ! ' 

And  so  Swinburne  : — 

'  Good  day,  good  night  and  good  morrow, 
Men  living  and  mourning  say, 
For  thee  we  could  only  pray 
That  night  of  the  day  might  borrow 
Such  comfort  as  dreams  lend  sorrow, 
Death  gives  thee  at  last  good  day.' 

And  in  closing  we  will  only  quote  those  most  perfect 
lines  of  all  Swinburne's  poetic  output : — 

*  From  too  much  love  of  living, 
From  hope  and  fear  set  free, 
We  thank  with  brief  thanksgiving 
Whatever  Gods  there  be — 
That  no  life  lives  for  ever, 
That  dead  men  rise  up  never, 
That  even  the  weariest  river 
Winds  somewhere  safe  to  sea.' 


23o       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


III 
ARTHUR  O'SHAUGHNESSY,  1844-81 

ARTHUR  O'SHAUGHNESSY,  as  his  name  implies,  was  of 
Irish  descent,  though  born  in  London  in  1844.  His  life  was 
very  short,  for  he  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-six.  In  1861  he 
entered  the  British  Museum  Library,  and  two  years  later 
was  transferred  to  the  Natural  History  department,  where 
fishes  and  reptiles  became  his  speciality.  In  his  leisure 
hours  he  found  time  to  write  some  very  beautiful  poems, 
though  the  fact  that  his  work  is  unequal  is  little  more  than 
what  we  expect  with  a  man  carried  off  in  the  height  of  his 
promise,  robbed  of  the  opportunity  of  winnowing  his 
work  in  his  mature  judgment. 

There  are  four  small  volumes  of  O'Shaughnessy's 
poems — The  Epic  of  Women  (1870),  Lays  of  France  (1872), 
Music  and  Moonlight  (1874),  and  the  posthumous  Song  of  a 
Worker  (iSSi). 

From  the  beginning  these  poems  showed  strong  signs 
of  French  influence — traces  of  Gautier,  and,  above  all,  a 
debt  to  Baudelaire. 

Swinburne  of  course  played  his  part,  but  the  point  is 
that  he  played  through  his  Baudelairian  side. 

The  Epic  of  Women  shows  a  Baudelairian  influence 
in  its  choice  of  theme.  Here  are  all  the  heroines  of  his- 
tory who  were  great  to  men's  cost : — 

'  From  Eve — whom  God  made 
And  left  her  as  He  made  her — without  soul. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     231 

And  lo  !  when  He  had  held  her  for  a  season 
In  His  own  pleasure  palaces  above, 
He  gave  her  unto  men  ;  this  is  the  reason 
She  is  so  fair  to  see,  so  false  to  love ' — 

the  wife  of  Hephaestus,  Cleopatra,  Salome,  Helen. 

When  O'Shaughnessy  wrote  his  *  To  a  Young 
Murderess'  he  must  have  had  in  mind  those  lines  of 
Baudelaire : — 

*  Tu  marches  sur  des  morts,  Beaute,  dont  tu  te  moques. 
De  ces  bijoux  1'Horreur  n'est  pas  le  moins  charmant, 
Et  le  Meurtre  parmi  tes  plus  chores  breloques 
Sur  ton  ventre  orgueilleux  danse  amoureusement.' 

Here  is  the  English  poem  : — 

'  Fair  yellow  murderess,  whose  gilded  head 
Gleaming  with  deaths  ;  whose  deadly  body  white 
Writ  o'er  with  secret  records  of  the  dead  ; 
Whose  tranquil  eyes,  that  hide  the  dead  from  sight 
Down  in  their  tenderest  depth  and  bluest  bloom  ; 
Whose  strange  unnatural  grace,  whose  prolonged  youth 
Are  for  my  death  now  and  the  shameful  doom 
Of  all  the  man  I  might  have  been  in  truth. 

Your  fell  smile  sweetened  still  lest  I  might  show 
Its  lingering  murder  with  a  kiss  for  lure 
Is  like  the  fascinating  steel  that  one 
Most  vengeful  in  his  last  revenge,  and  sure 
The  victim  lies  beneath  him,  passes  slow 
Again  and  oft  again  before  his  eyes, 
And  over  all  his  frame  that  he  may  know 
And  suffer  the  whole  death  before  he  dies. 

Will  you  not  slay  me  ?     Stab  me,  yea  somehow 
Deep  in  the  heart :  say  some  foul  word  at  last 
And  let  me  hate  you  as  I  love  you  now. 
Oh,  would  I  might  but  see  you  turn  and  cast 
That  false  fair  beauty  that  you  e'en  shall  lose, 
And  fall  down  there  and  writhe  about  my  feet, 
The  crooked  loathly  viper  I  shall  bruise 
Through  all  eternity  ? — 

Nay,  kiss  me,  Sweet ! ' 

Here  too  we  find  a  strong  note  of  exotism.     Take,  for 
instance,  '  Palm-Flowers.' 


232       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  In  a  land  of  the  sun's  blessing 
Where  the  passion  flower  grows, 
My  heart  keeps  all  worth  possessing, 
And  the  way  there  no  man  knows. 

All  the  perfumes  and  perfections 
Of  that  clime  have  met  with  grace 
In  her  body,  and  complexions 
Of  its  flowers  are  on  her  face.' 

And  the  same  note  recurs  in  the  '  Song  of  Betrothal ' 
in  Music  and  Moonlight : — 

'  I  think  I  see  you  under 

Strange  palms  with  leaves  of  gold, 
Your  foreign  dress,  and  in  your  hand 
The  quaint  bright  fan  you  hold. 

I  sit  sometimes  and  wonder, 

O  sister  mine  and  lover, 
What  ship  shall  bring  you  from  your  land 

To  me  here  in  the  cold.' 

And  again  in  the  '  Song  of  the  Palm  ' : — 

1  Mighty  luminous  and  calm 
Is  the  country  of  the  palm, 
Crowned  with  sunset  and  sunrise 
Under  the  unbroken  skies, 
Waving  from  green  zone  to  zone 
Over  wonders  of  its  own, 
Trackless,  untraversed,  unknown, 
Changeless  through  the  centuries. 

Who  shall  tell  enchanted  stories 
Of  the  forests  that  are  dead  ? 
Lo  !  the  soul  shall  grow  immense 
Looking  on  strange  hues  intense, 
Gazing  at  the  flaunted  glories 
Of  the  hundred-coloured  lories.' 

There  is  the  same  effort  to  ascribe  a  reasoning  to 
natural  happenings,  as  in  this  passage  from  the  *  Fountain 
of  Tears '  (Epic  of  Women)  :— 

1  You  may  feel  when  a  falling  leaf  brushes 
Your  face,  as  though  some  one  had  kissed  you, 
Or  think  at  least  some  one  who  missed  you 
Hath  sent  you  a  thought— if  that  cheers. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     233 

Or  a  bird's  little  song,  faint  and  broken, 
May  pass  for  a  tender  word  spoken  ; 
— Enough  while  around  you  there  rushes 
The  life  drowning  torrent  of  tears.' 1 

And  in  this  from  Music  and  Moonlight : — 

*.  .  .  the  antique  Past 
A  minuet  was  dancing  with  the  last 
Still  faintly  blushing  spectre  of  that  eve, 
Whose  perfumed  rose  lay  dying  on  the  floor, 
Some  shadows  seem  to  laugh  and  some  to  grieve 
As  the  blue  moonlight  fell  on  them  from  door 
And  distant  window.' 

And     here     again     is     the     Rodenbach-Baudelairian 
temper :  — 

*  The  houses  were  together  quite  ; 
The  roofs  and  all  the  window-places 
Drew  nigh  with  yearning  to  unite, 
They  were  most  like  two  lovers'  faces, 
Leaving  just  space  enough  for  sighs 
And  fair  love  looks,  and  soft  replies.  .  .  . 

There  the  dim  time  was  very  sweet, 

And  hours  between  the  noon  and  night 

Were  slow  to  pass  with  lagging  feet, 

And  wings  full  loaded  ;  tarried  late, 

Till  long  fair  fingers  from  the  deep 

Dark  wood  came  forth  to  separate 

Leaves — lights  from  shades  and  love  from  sleep. 

And  the  moon  like  a  dreamed-of  face 

Seen  gradually  in  the  dark 
Grew  up  and  filled  the  silent  place 
Between  those  houses  wan  and  stark.' 

Lays  of  France  :  'The  Lay  of  the  Nightingale. 

1  Cp.  Moreas,  Stance  vii.  :•— 

'  Par  ce  soir  pluvieux,  es-tu  quelque  presage, 

Un  secret  avertissement, 
O  feuille,  qui  me  viens  effleurer  le  visage 

Avec  ce  doux  fre'missement  ? 
L'automne  t'a  fle'trie  et  voici  que  tu  tombes, 
Trop  lourde  d'une  goutte  d'eau ; 

Tu  tombes  sur  mon  front  que  courbent  vers  les  tombes 
Les  jours  amasses  en  fardeau.' 


234       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

1  The  Disease  of  the  Soul '  is  a  long  poem  full  of  the 
Baudelairian  disenchantment — the  record  of  the  disillusions 
resulting  from  the  ceaseless  questioning  of  an  anxious 

soul : — 

*  There  are  infinite  sources  of  tears 
Down  there  in  my  infinite  heart, 
Where  the  record  of  time  appears 
As  the  record  of  time's  deceiving, 
Farewells  and  words  that  part 
Are  ever  ready  to  start 
To  my  lips  turned  white  with  the  fears 
Of  my  heart  turned  sick  of  believing. 

I  have  dreamed  in  the  red  sun-setting 
Among  rocks  where  the  sea  comes  and  goes 
Vast  dreams  of  the  soul's  begetting 
Vague  oceans  that  break  on  no  shore, 
I  have  felt  the  eternal  woes 
Of  the  soul  that  aspires  and  knows  ; 
Henceforth  there  can  be  no  forgetting 
Or  closing  the  eyes  any  more/ 

And  the  woe  that  he  feels  he  traces  through  the  sadness 
of  all  nature  : — 

'  I  have  felt  the  unearthly  swoon 
Of  the  sadness  of  the  moon.  .  .  . 
I  have  had  of  the  whole  creation 
The  secret  that  makes  it  groan. 

I  have  put  my  ear  to  the  earth, 
And  heard  in  a  little  space 
The  lonely  travail  of  birth 
And  the  lonely  prayer  of  the  dying  ; 
I  have  looked  all  heaven  in  the  face 
And  sought  for  a  holier  place, 
And  a  love  of  my  own  love's  worth, 
And  the  Soul  is  the  only  replying. 

I  have  dwelt  in  the  tomb's  drear  hollow, 
I  have  plundered  and  wearied  death, 
Till  no  poison  is  left  me  to  swallow, 
No  dull  sweet  Lethe  to  have  ; 
I  have  learned  all  things  that  he  saith, 
I  have  mingled  my  breath  with  his  breath, 
And  the  phantom  of  life  that  I  follow 
Is  weary  with  seeking  a  grave.  .  .  .' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     235 

Pessimism  of  a  profound  nature  was  already  present  in 
the  Epic  of  Women.  Take  this  fragment : — 

*  Man  shall  not  die.     The  darkness  in  his  brain, 
The  canker  at  his  heart,  the  ill  of  ages 
Shall  pass  and  leave  him  as  a  worn  out  pain  ; 
Life  from  her  books  shall  tear  a  thousand  pages, 
And  like  an  unread  record  shall  remain 
The  history  of  his  madness  when  he  fled 
Beauty  the  soul's  bride,  set  before  his  gaze 
And  followed  necromantic  ties  to  wed 
Death,  with  a  lingering  spousal  all  his  days, 
Gnawed  on  by  worms  as  though  already  dead.' 

O'Shaughnessy's  was  an  intensely  sensitive  nature,  and 
the  sorrows  of  his  life  have  left  their  stamp  strong  upon 
his  work.  He  married  in  1873,  but  the  six  years  of  his 
married  life  were  full  of  troubles — the  loss  of  the  two 
children  that  were  born  to  him,  his  continual  financial 
difficulties,  and  finally,  in  1879,  the  death  of  his  wife  ;  all 
this  accounts  for  the  personal  note  of  his  complainings, 
which  is  far  enough  removed  from  the  stoic  attitude  of 
the  Baudelairian  ideal.  There  is  Baudelairian  thought, 
however,  in  the  following  lines: — 

'  My  life  of  the  infinite  aching, 
My  thought  of  the  passionate  theme, 
My  heart  that  is  secretly  breaking, 
Far  more  than  each  lover  can  guess  ; 
With  all  these  I  but  suffer  or  seem, 
But  I  live  in  the  life  that  I  dream, 
And  a  lover  I  do  not  possess.' 

And  he  turns  again  to  his  exotic  dreams  : — 

'  The  nostalgies  of  dim  pasts  seize  me  ; 
There  are  days  when  the  thought  of  some  Pharaoh 
Like  the  phantom  pursues  me  or  flees  me, 
Through  dim  lapses  of  life  I  forget 
When  the  love  of  some  fabulous  hero, 
Or  the  passion  of  purple  Nero, 
Is  the  one  human  love  that  could  please  me  ; 
The  thing  I  dream  or  regret.3 


236       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

This  temper  finally  leads  him  to  the  question, 

'  Have  I  bartered  my  perfect  gladness 
For  an  unknown  immortal  sadness  ? 
Have  I  counted  my  pleasure  a  crime 
And  wept  all  my  beauty  away  ? ' 

To  which  the  answer  is  an  inevitable  affirmative. 

With  Swinburne,  O'Shaughnessy  too  has  his  humour 

of  revolt : — 

*  Full  of  care  we  cry 

Who  is  this  God — and  those  He  giveth  birth, 
Having  enkindled  them  with  some  new  spark 
Out  of  unmoulded  essences,  that  be 
In  soft  cores  and  recesses  of  the  earth, 
Or  rot  in  realms  of  the  limitless  dark 
Unwarmed  and  unawakened  ?    Yea,  what  worth 
Of  love  is  here  that  we  should  barter  sleep  ? 
To  lack  love  waking,  and  live  doubtful  years, 
Knowing  not  whether  most  to  laugh  or  weep, 
Feeding  ourselves  on  hoping,  and  our  ears 
Too  fain  with  any  music  that  deceives 
With  moaning  voice  of  winds  or  ocean  sigh, 
Or  sufficient  lisping  of  the  leaves  ? 
To  feel  some  little  light  and  hear  a  cry, 
And  live  and  see  no  miracle  and  die  ? ' 

O'Shaughnessy  is  little  known,  and  less  read  in  these 
days.  True  he  is  not  in  the  front  rank  of  poets,  but  then 
his  talent  had  no  time  to  mature.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  his  period  of  literary  production  extended  only  over 
four  years.  We  have  had  to  consider  his.  work  from  one 
point  of  view,  and  have  thus  been  led  to  neglect  the 
haunting  charm  of  some  of  his  lyrics. 

*  Then  fall  on  us,  dead  leaves  of  our  dear  roses, 

And  ruins  of  Summer  fall  on  us  e'er  long, 
And  hide  us  away  where  our  dead  year  reposes, 
Let  all  that  we  leave  in  the  world  be  a  song.' 

And  one  or  two  of  his  songs  '  Has  summer  come  with- 
out the  rose?'  or  *  Once  in  a  hundred  years,'  are  worthy 
to  be  classed  among  some  of  the  most  beautiful  in  our 
language. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    237 


IV 

OSCAR  WILDE,    1856-1900 

AFTER  renewed  reading  of  Oscar  Wilde's  poems  we  feel 
that  his  poetry  is  composed  of  elements  which  are  dis- 
cordant with  each  other.  At  one  moment  the  writer  is 
inspired  by  a  voluptuous  paganism  ;  at  another  a  fer- 
vent spiritualism,  and  even  a  vague  (oh  !  very  vague) 
Catholicism,  breathes  in  the  verses.  This  brings  us  at 
once  to  study  this  curious  parallel,  his  faculty  of  feeling 
catholic  mysticism  and  of  finding  enjoyment  in  pleasures, 
and  very  soon  we  see  that  this  artistic  sensitiveness  is  the 
man  himself,  that  he  felt  far  more  intensely  than  most 
men,  and  was  in  this  way  led  necessarily,  as  it  were,  to  a 
desperate  pursuit  of  the  pleasure  of  existence. 

And  so  for  the  non-moral  critic  who  has  not  to  trouble 
himself  with  questions  of  Oscar  Wilde's  conduct,  this 
writer's  work  appears  brimming  over  with  life  :  on  the 
one  hand,  pagan  antiquity  with  its  now  ingenuous,  now 
conscious  sensuality  delighting  the  man  enamoured  of 
nature  ;  on  the  other,  Christianity  with  its  eternally  deep 
mysticism. 

And  having  said  this  of  Oscar  Wilde,  have  we  not 
already  suggested  that  he  bears  striking  resemblances  to 
Baudelaire  and  Verlaine?  Like  them,  is  he  not  a  modern 
'  representative '  man — for  whom  Art  is  life  itself "? 

Among  Oscar  Wilde's  aphorisms  we  find  this  saying 
which  is  so  true  of  himself :  *  If  a  man  treats  life  artisti- 
cally his  brain  is  his  heart.' 


238       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

And  from  that  we  are  naturally  led  to  study  the 
influence  that  like  minds  before  him  necessarily  had 
upon  him. 

It  was  in  Keats  that  Oscar  Wilde  saw  the  beginning  of 
the  artistic  renaissance  in  England.  '  It  is  in  Keats  that 
the  artistic  spirit  of  the  century  first  found  its  absolute 
incarnation.' 

His  first  published  poem,  the  *  Ravenna,'  with  which 
he  won  the  Newdigate  prize  in  1875,  is  full  of  the  in- 
fluence of  Keats  and  Shelley,  and  the  volume  of  poems 
which  followed  in  1878  shows  the  same  influences.  There 
are  of  course  others.  He  had  a  great  admiration  for 
Rossetti,  who  loves  beauty 

'  so  well,  that  all  the  World  for  him 

A  gorgeous-coloured  vestiture  must  wear, 

And  Sorrow  take  a  purple  diadem, 

Or  else  be  no  more  Sorrow,  and  Despair 

Gild  its  own  thorns,  and  Pain,  like  Adon,  be 
Even  in  anguish  beautiful ; — such  is  the  empery 

Which  Painters  hold,  and  such  the  heritage 

This  gentle  solemn  Spirit  doth  possess, 

Being  a  better  mirror  of  his  age 

In  all  his  pity,  love,  and  weariness, 

Than  those  who  can  but  copy  common  things, 
And  leave  the  Soul  unpainted  with  its  mighty  questionings.3 

Garden  of  Eros. 

Swinburne  too  played  his  part.  The  Swinburnian 
note  is  heard  from  the  first  sonnets,  with  their  discontent 
of  present  things,  their  admiration  of  Cromwell  and 
Cromwell's  England. 

*  This  mighty  empire  hath  but  feet  of  clay, 
Of  all  its  ancient  chivalry  and  might 
Our  little  island  is  forsaken  quite  : 
Some  enemy  hath  stolen  its  crown  of  bay, 
And  from  its  hills  that  voice  hath  passed  away 
Which  spake  of  Freedom  :  O  come  out  of  it, 
Come  out  of  it,  my  Soul,  thou  art  not  fit 
For  this  vile  traffic  house,  where  day  by  day 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     239 

Wisdom  and  reverence  are  sold  at  mart, 
And  the  rude  people  rage  with  ignorant  cries 
Against  an  heritage  of  centuries. 
It  mars  my  calm  :  wherefore  in  dreams  of  Art 
And  loftiest  culture  I  would  stand  apart 
Neither  for  God,  nor  for  his  enemies.' 

He  directly  celebrated  Swinburne  in  the  Garden  of  Eros, 
as  the  one  poet  worthy  to  carry  on  the  tradition  of  Keats 
— with  whose  advent 

4  Venus  laughs  to  know  one  knee  will  bow  before  her  still. 

And  he  hath  kissed  the  lips  of  Proserpine, 
And  sung  the  Galilasan's  requiem, 
That  wounded  forehead  dashed  with  blood  and  wine 
He  hath  discrowned,  the  Ancient  Gods  in  him 
Have  found  their  last,  most  ardent  worshipper, 
And  the  new  Sign  grows  grey  and  dim  before  its  conqueror.' 

Wilde's  admiration  for  Morris  sometimes  held  dangers 
— the  Rossetti-Morris  refrain  habit  needs  very  cautious 
handling,  else  it  trips  over  the  boundary  of  burlesque, 
and  irresistibly  recalls  Calverley.  Here  is  a  highly 
Morrisonian  f  Chanson  '  : — 

'  A  ring  of  gold  and  a  milk-white  dove 

Are  goodly  gifts  for  thee, 
And  a  hempen  rope  for  your  own  love 
To  hang  upon  a  tree. 

For  you  a  House  of  Ivory 

(Roses  are  white  in  the  rose  bower !) 
A  narrow  bed  for  me  to  lie 

(White,  O  white  is  the  hemlock  flower  !) 

Myrtle  and  jessamine  for  you 

(O  the  red  rose  is  fair  to  see  !) 
For  me  the  cypress  and  the  rue 

(Finest  of  all  is  rosemary !) 

For  you  three  lovers  of  your  hand 

(Green  grass  where  a  man  lies  dead  !) 
For  me  three  paces  on  the  sand 

(Plant  lilies  at  my  head  !)' 

Such  then  are  the  influences  at  once  discernible  in 
Wilde's  earliest  work.  Swinburne  was  already  a  Baude- 


24o       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

lairian  influence.  When  we  look  further  we  find  the 
same  Baudelairian  distrust  of  the  idea  of  progress  ;  it  is 
present  in  his  discontent  with  his  age,  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken,  and  it  recurs  in  his  revolt  against  the 
reigning  '  critical '  unromantic  prevailing  spirit. 

1  Already  the  still  lark  is  out  of  sight, 

Flooding  with  waves  of  song  this  silent  dell — 
Ah  !  there  is  something  more  in  that  bird's  flight 
Than  could  be  tested  in  a  crucible.' 

He  had  also  all  the  Baudelairian  hatred  of  democracy, 
the  exasperation  against  those  demagogues  who  con- 
found the  arrival  of  democracy  with  the  arrival  of  the 
Golden  Age,  against  the  so-called  children  of  liberty 

'.  .  .  .  whose  dull  eyes 
See  nothing  save  their  own  unlovely  woe.' 

As  he  says  of  himself: — 

*  Albeit  nurtured  in  democracy 

And  liking  best  that  state  republican 
Where  every  man  is  Kinglike,  and  no  man 

Is  crowned  above  his  fellows,  yet  I  see, 

Spite  of  this  modern  fret  for  Liberty, 
Better  the  rule  of  One,  whom  all  obey 
Than  to  let  clamorous  demagogues  betray 

Our  freedom  with  the  kiss  of  anarchy  .  .  .' 

The  descendant  of  Baudelaire — the  man  of  sensation — 
shows  himself  in  the  importance  attached  to  feelings  : — 

*.  .  .  to  feel  is  better  than  to  know, 
And  wisdom  is  a  childless  heritage, 
One  pulse  of  passion— youth's  first  fiery  glow- 
Are  worth  the  hoarded  proverbs  of  the  sage  : 
Vex  not  thy  soul  with  dead  philosophy, 
Have  we  not  lips  to  kiss  with,  hearts  to  love,  and  eyes  to  see  ! ' 

Baudelairian  again  in  its  artificiality  is  his  charming 
'  Le  Panneau  ' : — 

'Under  the  rose-tree's  dancing  shade 
There  stands  a  little  ivory  girl, 
Pulling  the  leaves  of  pink  and  pearl 
With  pale  green  nails  of  polished  jade. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     241 

The  red  leaves  fall  upon  the  mould, 

The  white  leaves  flutter  one  by  one, 

Down  to  a  blue  bowl  where  the  sun, 
Like  a  great  dragon  writhes  in  gold. 

The  white  leaves  float  upon  the  air, 

The  red  leaves  flutter  idly  down, 

Some  fall  upon  her  yellow  gown, 
And  some  upon  her  raven  hair. 

She  takes  an  amber  lute  and  sings, 

And  as  she  sings  a  silver  crane 

Begins  his  scarlet  neck  to  strain, 
And  flap  his  burnished  metal  wings. 

She  takes  a  lute  of  amber  bright, 

And  from  the  thicket  where  he  lies 

Her  lover,  with  his  almond  eyes, 
Watches  her  movements  in  delight.' 

The  whole  of  the  Sphinx,  which,  together  with  the 
Harlot's  House,  is  Wilde's  finest  poetic  achievement,  is 
Baudelairian  in  its  exotic  mysterious  inspiration,  its 
technical  perfection,  the  haunting  effect  of  the  internal 
rhymes.  Pure  Baudelaire  are  such  lines  as  these  : — 

'  Your  eyes  are  like  fantastic  moons  that  shiver  in  some  stagnant  lake, 
Your  tongue  is  like  a  scarlet  snake  that  dances  to  fantastic  tunes, 
Your  pulse  makes  poisonous  melodies,  and  your  black  throat  is  like  the 

hole 
Left  by  some  torch  or  burning  coal  on  Saracenic  tapestries.' 

The  concluding  lines  of  this  poem  are  in  the  pessi- 
mistic temper  we  had  come  to  expect : — 

'  False  Sphinx  !     False  Sphinx  !     By  reedy  Styx  old  Charon,  leaning  on 

his  oar, 

Waits  for  my  coin.     Go  thou  before,  and  leave  me  to  my  crucifix, 
Whose  pallid  burden,  sick  with  pain,  watches  the  world  with  wearied 

eyes, 
And  weeps  for  every  soul  that  dies,  and  weeps  for  every  soul  in  vain.' 

Finally,  those  lines  of  Baudelaire  in  the  Heautontimo- 
roumenos, 

Q 


242       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  Je  suis  la  plaie  et  le  couteau 
Je  suis  le  soufflet  et  la  joue  .  .  .' 

directly  inspired  Wilde's 

*  Being  ourselves  the  sowers  and  the  seeds, 

The  night  that  covers  and  the  lights  that  fade, 
The  spear  that  pierces  and  the  side  that  bleeds, 
The  lips  betraying  and  the  life  betrayed.' 

These  Baudelairian  features  that  we  find  in  the  poems 
meet  us  again  in  the  prose  works,  that  is,  in  their  critical 
side.  Here  again  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  what  a 
brilliant  critic  was  Baudelaire ;  indeed,  Baudelaire  may 
be  considered  the  father  of  creative  criticism,  domain  in 
which  Swinburne  is  his  descendant,  and  wherein  Pater 
even  surpassed  him.  We  know  how  much  Wilde  owed 
to  Pater — our  interest  lies  in  seeking  the  Baudelairian 
ideas  in  the  result. 

We  find  them  most  clearly  set  out  in  his  Intentions, 
that  volume  of  criticisms  which  first  appeared  in  1891, 
and  which  contains  Wilde's  best  work. 

The  first  doctrine  we  should  expect  to  find  put  forward 
is  that  of  Vart  pour  Vart\  and  it  is  so.  Surely  no  man 
ever  professed  such  horror  of  the  utilitarian  as  Wilde. 
Early  in  the  Decay  of  Lying  we  read  : — 

1  As  long  as  a  thing  is  useful  or  necessary  to  us,  or  affects  us  in 
any  way,  either  for  pain  or  pleasure,  or  appeals  strongly  to  our 
sympathies,  or  is  a  vital  part  of  the  environment  in  which  we  live, 
it  is  outside  the  proper  sphere  of  art? 

And  he  proceeds  to  condemn  the  novels  with  a  purpose 
of  Charles  Reade,  of  Dickens. 

As  he  had  said  already  in  his  Rise  of  Historical 
Criticism  : — 

*  To  set  before  either  the  painter  or  the  historian  the  inculcation 
of  moral  lessons,  as  an  aim  to  be  consciously  pursued,  is  to  miss 
entirely  the  true  motive  and  characteristic  of  both  art  and  history, 
which  is  in  the  one  case  the  creation  of  beauty,  in  the  other  the 
discovery  of  the  laws  of  the  evolution  of  progress :  //  ne  faut 
demander  de  PArt  que  I' Art,  du  passt  que  le  passe? 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    243 

Wilde  had  set  out  as  a  disciple  of  Keats,  follower  of  the 
spirit  of  Beauty  whose  ultimate  doctrine  is 

'  Beauty  is  Truth,  and  Truth  Beauty' ; 

but  the  first  step  of  your  true  Baudelairian  is  towards 
proving  that  the  second  part  of  the  premise  does  not  hold. 
Even  so  Wilde,  like  Baudelaire,  declares  himself  no 
partisan  of  Nature  : — 

'The  popular  cry  of  our  time  is  "Let  us  return  to  Life  and 
Nature ! "  .  .  .  But  alas !  we  are  mistaken  in  our  well-meaning 
efforts.  Nature  is  always  behind  the  age.  And  as  for  Life,  she  is 
the  solvent  that  breaks  up  Art,  the  enemy  that  lays  waste  her  house. 
.  .  .  One  touch  of  Nature  may  make  the  whole  world  kin,  but  two 
touches  of  Nature  will  destroy  any  work  of  Art.' 

'  The  best  one  can  say  of  modern  creative  art  is  that  it  is  just  a 
little  less  vulgar  than  reality.' 

'  Those  who  do  not  love  Plato  more  than  Truth  never  know  the 
inmost  shrine  of  Art.' 

The  duty  of  the  artist  is  to  make  choice,  and  where 
necessary  to  improve  upon  reality.  And  in  this  way  he 
must  exercise  restraint.  This  is  the  great  lesson  for  the 
purely  personal  poet,  a  lesson  which  might  be  studied 
with  advantage  by  Verlaine,  and  above  all  by  Wordsworth. 
Hallward  in  Dorian  Gray  is  made  to  carry  this  doctrine 
to  its  furthest  point :  '  An  artist  should  create  beautiful 
things,  but  should  put  nothing  of  his  own  life  into  them.' 

Andre  Gide  records  how  Wilde  used  to  lay  down  as  a 
principle  to  him  :  '  In  art  there  is  no  first  person.' 

In  the  same  way  Daudet's  characters  lost  their  charm 
for  him  once  proved  to  be  taken  from  life. 

For  after  all,  can  we  lay  down  what  is  Truth  ?  Here  is 
Oscar  Wilde's  answer  to  the  question  :— 

'  In  matters  of  religion,  it  is  simply  the  opinion  that  has  survived. 
In  matters  of  science,  it  is  the  ultimate  sensation.  In  matters  of  art, 
it  is  one's  last  mood.' 


244       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Wilde  held  the  Baudelairian-Hegelian  theory  of  the 
universe  as  a  creation  of  our  mind,  and  thus  he  is  led  to 
say,  '  Nature  is  no  great  mother  who  has  borne  us.  She 
is  our  creation.  It  is  in  our  brain  that  she  quickens  to  life.' 

Just  as  Stevenson  pointed  out  that  though  we  admire  a 
great  picture,  what  is  truly  admirable  is  the  appreciative- 
ness  of  our  mind,  Wilde,  taken  with  the  fancy,  has 
developed  it  in  one  of  his  brilliantly  paradoxical  para- 
graphs, proving  fogs  an  invention  of  Whistler,  and 
sunsets  out  of  date  since  the  day  of  Turner. 

Baudelaire  considered  that  the  poet  inevitably  produces 
the  critic,  and  this  doctrine  goes  hand  in  hand  with  his 
continual  assertion  of  the  self-consciousness  of  art.  Wilde 
holds  the  same  view. 

1  Believe  me,  there  is  no  fine  art  without  self-consciousness,  and 
self-consciousness  and  the  critical  spirit  are  one ' ; 

and  a  little  further  we  read  : — 

'  Each  new  school  as  it  appears  cries  out  against  criticism,  but  it 
is  to  the  critical  faculty  in  man  that  it  owes  its  origin.  The  mere 
creative  instinct  does  not  innovate,  but  reproduces.' 

The  artist  must  set  out  with  the  clear  idea  of  what  he 
mtends  to  create,  otherwise  the  effect  cannot  but  be  vague, 
and  '  To  the  aesthetic  temperament  the  vague  is  always 
repellent.' 

The  vague i  and  not  the  mysterious,  as  Mr.  Symons 
was  careful  to  point  out. 

Mystery,  on  the  contrary,  is  one  of  the  elements  of 
beauty  —  true  Baudelairian  formula.  The  artist  must 
look  upon  art  as  a  '  goddess  whose  mystery  it  is  his 
province  to  intensify,  and  whose  majesty  his  privilege  to 
make  more  marvellous  in  the  eyes  of  men.* 

Or,  as  he  puts  it  in  Dorian  Gray  :  *  It  is  the  uncertainty 
that  charms  one.  A  mist  makes  things  wonderful.' 

And  from  this  it  follows  that  Art  must  be  suggestive, 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     245 

or,  as  Moreas  put  it,  must  never  go  quite  so  far  as  the 
conception  de  Videe  en  soi. 

1  It  is  through  its  very  incompleteness  that  Art  becomes  complete 
in  beauty,  and  so  addresses  itself  not  to  the  faculty  of  recognition 
nor  to  the  faculty  of  reason,  but  to  the  aesthetic  sense  alone,  which, 
while  accepting  both  reason  and  recognition  as  stages  of  appre- 
hension, subordinates  them  both  to  a  pure  synthetic  expression  of 
the  work  of  Art  as  a  whole,  and,  taking  whatever  alien  emotional 
elements  the  work  may  possess,  uses  their  very  complexity  as 
a  means  by  which  a  richer  unity  may  be  added  to  the  ultimate 
impression  itself.' 

So  much  then  for  the  resemblance  of  purely  critical 
ideas.  There  is  also  in  Wilde  some  of  the  spirit  of  fear 
that  haunts  Poe  and  Baudelaire  ;  he  too  has  been  haunted 
by  grotesque  fancies,  and  troubled  by  the  '  malady  of 
reverie/  when 

1  gradually  white  fingers  creep  through  the  curtains,  and  they 
appear  to  tremble.  In  black  fantastic  shapes,  dumb  shadows  crawl 
into  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  crouch  there.  Outside,  there  is 
the  stirring  of  birds  among  the  leaves,  or  the  sound  of  men  going 
forth  to  their  work,  or  the  sigh  and  sob  of  the  wind  coming  down 
from  the  hills,  and  wandering  round  the  silent  house,  as  though  it 
feared  to  wake  the  sleepers,  and  yet  must  needs  call  forth  sleep  from 
her  purple  cave.  Veil  after  veil  of  thin  dusky  gauze  is  lifted,  and 
by  degrees  the  forms  and  colours  of  things  are  restored  to  them, 
and  we  watch  the  dawn  remaking  the  world  in  its  antique  pattern  : 
out  of  the  unreal  shadows  of  the  night  comes  back  the  real  life  that 
we  had  known.  We  have  to  resume  it  where  we  had  left  off,  and  there 
steals  over  us  a  terrible  sense  of  the  necessity  for  the  continuance 
of  energy  in  the  same  wearisome  round  of  stereotyped  habits,  or  a 
wild  longing,  it  may  be,  that  our  eyelids  might  open  some  morning 
upon  a  world  that  had  been  refashioned  anew  in  the  darkness  for 
our  pleasure,  a  world  in  which  things  would  have  fresh  shapes  and 
colours,  and  be  changed  or  have  other  secrets,  a  world  in  which  the 
past  would  have  little  or  no  place,  or  survive  at  any  rate,  in  no 
conscious  form  of  obligation  or  regret,  the  remembrance  even  of 
joy  having  its  bitterness,  and  the  memories  of  pleasure  their  pain.' 


246       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

It  is  in  the  power  of  creating  these  worlds  that  Dorian 
Gray  is  essentially  Baudelairian,  in  his  ceaseless  pursuit 
of  sensation. 

Fear  of  consequences  is  ethically  the  lowest  reason  for 
not  sinning — nor  had  Dorian  Gray  any  of  this  fear.  He 
considered  that 

1  ...  the  true  nature  of  the  senses  had  never  been  understood,  and 
that  they  had  remained  savage  and  animal  merely  because  the  world 
had  sought  to  starve  them  into  submission  or  to  kill  them  by  pain, 
instead  of  aiming  at  making  them  elements  of  a  new  spirituality,  of 
which  a  fine  instinct  for  beauty  was  to  be  the  dominant  charac- 
teristic. As  he  looked  back  upon  man  moving  through  History,  he 
was  haunted  by  a  feeling  of  loss.  So  much  had  been  surrendered  ! 
and  to  such  little  purpose  ! ' 

In  the  descriptions  of  the  various  modes  of  pursuit  of 
sensation  in  the  eleventh  chapter  of  Dorian  Gray — though 
the  starting-point  be  from  Baudelaire,  there  is  also  very 
much  Huysmans.  We  are  minded  at  every  turn  of  des 
Esseintes  ;  there  is  the  same  interest  in  the  Catholic  ritual, 
in  mysticism,  in  perfumes.  There  is  the  same  searching 
for  correspondences  in  the  interpretation  of  that  music, 
the  same  interest  in  the  gorgeous  pomps  of  life  in  the 
past,  the  same  intimate  acquaintance  with  its  wealth  of 
detail.  (The  same  thing  was  already  apparent  in  the 
passage  where  he  describes  Wainwright's  luxurious 
tastes — Pen,  Pencil  and  Poison.)  Certainly  if  Huysmans 
had  never  written,  Dorian  Gray  would  have  been  very 
different,  even  had  he  existed. 

And  is  not  Salome  entirely  inspired  by  those  pages 
in  A  Rebours,  which  contain  Huysmans'  interpretative 
criticism  of  Moreau's  Salome  paintings. 

The  resemblance  to  Verlaine  is  very  strong  in  the 
celebrations  of  suffering.  The  beauty  of  the  revelation  of 
suffering  occurred  to  both  in  prison. 

'There  are  times  when  sorrow  seems  to  me  the  only  truth. 
Other  things  may  be  illusions  of  the  eye,  of  the  appetite,  made  to 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    247 

blind  the  one  and  cloy  the  other,  but  out  of  sorrow  have  the  worlds 
been  built,  and  at  the  birth  of  a  child  or  a  star  there  is  pain. 

In  fact,  it  is  this  theme  that  is  the  prevailing  one 
throughout  De  Profundis. 

Finally,  Wilde's  style  in  his  Poems  in  Prose,  his 
Happy  Prince,  and  House  of  Pomegranates,  aims  at  a 
Baudelairian  ideal,  the 

* ...  miracle  of  a  poetical  prose,  musical,  rhythmless,  rhymeless, 
both  supple  enough  and  abrupt  enough  to  adapt  itself  to  the  lyrical 
movements  of  the  soul,  to  the  modulations  of  reverie,  to  the 
startings-up  of  conscience.' 

Wilde  did  frequently  produce  a  prose  which  is  a  very 
beautiful  instrument :  certain  passages  from  De  Profundis, 
or  from,  let  us  say,  The  Fisherman  and  his  Soul,  are 
among  the  finest  in  our  language. 

Dorian  Gray  too  reminds  us  of  Baudelaire's  Samuel 
Cramer  in  La  Fanfarlo,  who  was  all  the  artists  he  had 
ever  studied,  and  all  the  books  he  had  read. 

'There  were  times  when  it  appeared  to  Dorian  Gray  that  the 
whole  of  history  was  merely  the  record  of  his  own  life,  not  as  he 
had  lived  in  it  in  act  and  circumstance,  but  as  his  imagination  had 
created  it  for  him,  as  it  had  been  in  his  brain  and  in  his  passions. 
He  felt  that  he  had  known  them  all,  those  strange  terrible  figures 
that  had  passed  across  the  stage  of  the  world  and  made  sin  so 
marvellous,  and  evil  so  full  of  subtlety.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in 
some  mysterious  way  their  lives  had  been  his  own.' 

We  have  already  remarked  on  the  fact  that  the 
Baudelairian  movement  leads  into  mysticism.  Oscar 
Wilde  felt  the  same  thing.  In  De  Profundis  he  tells  us  : — 

*  I  am  conscious  now  that  behind  all  this  beauty,  satisfying 
though  it  may  be,  there  is  some  spirit  hidden  of  which  the  painted 
forms  and  shapes  are  but  modes  of  manifestation,  and  it  is  with 
this  Spirit  that  I  desire  to  become  in  harmony.  I  have  grown  tired 
of  the  articulate  utterances  of  men  and  things.  The  Mystical  in 
Art,  the  Mystical  in  Life,  the  Mystical  in  Nature — this  is  what  I  am 
looking  for.' 


248       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

There  is  also  a  good  deal  of  Baudelaire's  delight  in 
mystification,  or  that  of  the  Baudelairians  in  general  in 
the  power  to  epater  le  bourgeois,  in  Oscar  Wilde's  con- 
nection with  that  aesthetic  movement  which  has  been 
so  admirably  recorded  for  us  by  Du  Maurier  and  W.  S. 
Gilbert. 

Laforgue  said  of  Baudelaire  that  he  was  the  first  to 
break  with  the  public.  Oscar  Wilde,  who  had  doubtless 
read  Laforgue,  rejoiced  in — what  his  enemies  call  his 
pose — of  despising  what  most  men  respect. 

He  wrote : — 

'Morality  is  the  attitude  we  adopt  towards  people  we  cannot 
endure.' 

*  To  be  as  artificial  as  possible  is  the  first  duty  in  life.  What  the 
second  is,  no  one  yet  knows.' 

Far  more  circumspect  than  Baudelaire,  far  more  man 
of  the  world  than  Verlaine,  he  saw  what  an  excellent  puff 
— as  regards  the  general  English  public  or  University 
students — lay  in  his  (to  say  the  least  of  it)  eccentric 
attitude.  For  who  in  England  knew  Baudelaire  and 
Verlaine  towards  1890?  A  few  men  of  letters  certainly, 
but  a  few  only.  Oscar  Wilde  certainly  saw  the  advantage 
to  be  gained  from  this  ignorance  on  the  part  of  the 
English  public. 

Not  that  we  wish  to  depreciate  him  ;  but  when  we  come 
to  study  his  curious,  complicated  nature  we  are  glad  to 
discover  a  thread  in  the  skein. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    249 


V 
CONTEMPORARY   WRITERS 

IN  England  as  in  France  the  Baudelairian  spirit  has  not 
yet  ceased  working.  We  have  already  referred  to  the 
difficulty  of  discussing  a  movement  on  the  part  of  living 
writers,  and  will,  as  before,  content  ourselves  with  little 
more  than  mention. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  the  Baudelairian  spirit  is  making 
itself  felt  in  the  modern  Irish  literary  movement.  It  is  in 
the  symbolism  of  Yeats,  it  was  in  the  stiggestiveness  of 
Synge  (and  the  fact  that  these  two,  dramatically,  owe 
something  to  Maeterlinck  is  no  hindrance  to  our  theory), 
it  is  in  the  dreamy  mysticism  of  A.  E.,  and  in  that  of 
R.  H.  Benson  and  of  Mr  Arthur  Machen. 

Mr.  Arthur  Symons  is  a  Baudelairian  as  critic  rather 
than  as  poet.  It  was  a  Baudelairian  who  said,  '  To 
understand  is  to  create.'  As  critic  he  has  shown  himself 
in  thorough  sympathy  with  the  Baudelairian  movement ; 
he  has  its  melancholy  love  of  sadness  (*  Only  very  young 
people  want  to  be  happy'),  and  there  is  a  Baudelairian 
confession  in  the  'Amends  to  Nature/ 

'  I  have  loved  colours  and  not  flowers, 

Their  motion,  not  the  swallow's  wings  ; 
And  wasted  more  than  half  my  hours 
Without  the  comradeship  of  things.' 

From  time  to  time  in  his  poems  the  Baudelairian  influ- 
ence is  discernible.  In  '  Images  of  Good  and  Evil '  it  is 
marked  ;  but  on  the  whole  the  poems  are  not  the  more 
important  portion  of  Mr.  Symons'  work. 


250       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

His  Spiritual  Adventures,  with  their  seeking  to  investi- 
gate 'the  other  things,'  have  something  Baudelairian  in 
them,  and  from  time  to  time  recall  Huysmans. 

But  at  the  present  time  there  are  above  all  two  very 
interesting  writers  who  owe  so  much  to  the  Baudelairian 
spirit  that  we  shall  allow  ourselves  to  study  them  in  more 
detail.  We  mean  Mr  Arthur  Machen  and  Mr.  George 
Moore. 

ARTHUR  MACHEN 

Mr.  Arthur  Machen  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  Baude- 
lairian of  contemporary  writers. 

In  his  works  we  again  meet  the  distrust  of  nature  from 
the  documentary  point  of  view — the  denunciation  of 
*  Romans  a  Clef,'  leading  up  to  this  declaration  : — 

'It  comes  to  this  again  and  again  that  Art  and  Life  are  two 
different  spheres,  and  that  the  Artist  with  a  capital  A  is  not  a 
clever  photographer  who  understands  selection  to  a  greater  or  less 
degree.' 

There  is  the  same  importance  given  to  ecstasy  *  which 
is  the  withdrawal,  the  standing  apart  from  common  life,' 
and  this  '  standing  apart '  naturally  leads  him  to  seek 
'  the  other  things,'  which  are  to  be  found 

'sometimes  in  the  song  of  a  bird,  sometimes  in  the  scent  of  a 
flower,  sometimes  in  the  whirl  of  a  London  street,  sometimes  hidden 
under  a  great  lonely  hill.  Some  of  us  seek  them  with  most  hope  in 
the  sacring  of  the  Mass,  others  receive  tidings  in  the  sound  of  music, 
in  the  colour  of  a  picture,  in  the  shining  form  of  a  statue,  and  in  the 
meditation  of  eternal  truth.' 

His  latest  work  The  Hill  of  Dreams  is  full  of  Baude- 
lairism.  Here  is  a  description  of  a  scene  in  the  woods  as 
his  hero  Lucian  feels  it : — 

'Slowly  and  timidly  he  began  to  untie  his  boots,  fumbling  with 
the  laces,  and  glancing  all  the  while  on  every  side  at  the  ugly  mis- 
shapen trees  that  hedged  the  lawn.  Not  a  branch  was  straight,  not 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     251 

one  was  free,  but  all  were  interlaced  and  grew  one  about  another ; 
and  just  above  ground,  where  the  cankered  stems  joined  the  pro- 
tuberant roots,  there  were  forms  that  imitated  the  human  shape,  and 
faces  and  twining  limbs  that  amazed  him.  Green  mosses  were  hair, 
and  tresses  were  stark  in  grey  lichen ;  a  twisted  root  swelled  into  a 
limb ;  in  the  hollows  of  the  rooted  bark  he  saw  the  masks  of  men. 
...  As  he  gazed  across  the  turf  and  into  the  thicket,  the  sunshine 
seemed  really  to  become  green,  and  the  contrast  between  the  bright 
glow  poured  on  the  lawn,  and  the  black  shadow  of  the  brake  made 
an  odd  flickering  light,  in  which  all  the  grotesque  postures  of  stem 
and  root  began  to  stir  ;  the  wood  was  alive.  The  turf  beneath  him 
heaved  and  sunk  as  with  the  deep  swell  of  the  sea.  .  .  .' 

This  Lucian  is  a  descendant  of  Baudelaire  in  his  interest 
in  perfumes.  Here  is  an  interesting  passage  : — 

'  The  sun  still  beat  upon  the  roses,  and  a  little  breeze  bore  the 
scent  of  them  to  his  nostrils  together  with  the  smell  of  grapes  and 
vine  leaves.  He  had  become  curious  in  sensation,  and  as  he  leant 
back  upon  the  cushions  covered  with  glistening  yellow  silk  he  was 
trying  to  analyse  a  strange  ingredient  in  the  perfume  of  the  air.  He 
had  penetrated  far  beyond  the  crude  distinctions  of  modern  times, 
beyond  the  rough  :  "  there 's  a  smell  of  roses,"  "  there  must  be  sweet- 
briar  somewhere."  Modern  perceptions  of  odour  were,  he  knew, 
far  below  those  of  the  savage  in  delicacy.  The  degraded  black 
fellow  of  Australia  could  distinguish  odours  in  a  way  that  made  the 
consumer  of  "  damper  "  stare  in  amazement,  but  the  savage's  sensa- 
tions were  all  strictly  utilitarian.  To  Lucian,  as  he  sat  in  the  cool 
porch,  his  feet  on  the  marble,  the  air  came  laden  with  scents,  as 
subtly  and  wonderfully  interwoven  and  contrasted  as  the  harmonies 
of  a  great  master.  The  stained  marble  of  the  pavement  gave  a  cool 
reminiscence  of  the  Italian  mountain,  the  blood-red  roses  sent  out 
an  odour  mystical  as  passion  itself,  and  there  was  the  hint  of 
inebriation  in  the  perfume  of  the  trellised  vines.  .  .  .' 

And  again  : — 

'He  could  imagine  a  man  who  was  able  to  live  on  one  sense 
while  he  pleased ;  to  whom,  for  example,  every  impression  of  touch, 
taste,  hearing,  or  seeing  should  be  translated  into  odour;  who,  at 
the  desired  kiss  should  be  ravished  with  the  scent  of  dark  violets, 
to  whom  music  should  be  the  perfume  of  a  rose-garden  at  dawn.' 


252       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

The  problem  of  the  boundary  line  between  the  various 
senses,  and  the  possibility  of  their  merging  had  attracted 
him  : — 

'  The  fancy  that  sensations  are  symbols  and  not  realities  hovered 
in  his  mind,  and  led  him  to  speculate  as  to  whether  they  could  not 
actually  be  transmitted  one  into  another.  It  was  impossible,  he 
thought,  that  a  whole  continent  of  knowledge  had  been  undis- 
covered ;  the  energies  of  men  having  been  expended  in  unimportant 
and  foolish  directions.  Modern  ingenuity  had  been  employed  on 
such  trifles  as  locomotive  engines,  electric  cables,  and  cantilever 
bridges;  on  elaborate  devices  for  bringing  uninteresting  people 
nearer  together ;  the  ancients  had  been  almost  as  foolish,  because 
they  had  mistaken  the  symbol  for  the  thing  signified.  It  was  not 
the  material  banquet  which  really  mattered  but  the  thought  of  it ; 
it  was  almost  as  futile  to  eat,  and  take  emetics,  and  eat  again,  as  to 
invent  telephones  and  high-pressure  boilers.  As  for  some  other 
ancient  methods  of  enjoying  life,  one  might  as  well  set  oneself  to 
improve  calico  printing  at  once.' 

The  importance  ascribed  to  sensation  comes  out  again 
in  his  remarks  on  language  : — 

'  Language,  he  understood,  was  chiefly  important  for  the  beauty 
of  its  sounds,  by  its  possession  of  words  resonant,  glorious  to  the 
ear,  by  its  capacity,  when  exquisitely  arranged,  of  suggesting 
wonderful  and  indefinable  impressions,  perhaps  more  ravishing  and 
further  removed  from  the  domain  of  strict  thought  than  the  impres- 
sions excited  by  music  itself.  Here  lay  hidden  the  secret  of  the 
sensuous  art  of  literature  ;  it  was  the  secret  of  suggestion,  the  art  of 
causing  delicious  sensation  by  the  use  of  words.' 

Finally,  Mr.  Machen  is  Baudelairian  in  his  Catholicism 
— w^hich  for  him,  as  for  Barbey  d'Aurevilly,  is  the  root  of 
all  things.  For  him  without  an,  at  the  least,  subconscious 
acceptance  of  Catholic  dogma  there  is  no  literature  : — 

*• Don't  imagine  that  you  can  improve  your  literary  chances  by 
subscribing  the  Catechism  of  The  Decrees  of  the  Council  of  Trent. 
No ;  I  can  give  you  no  such  short  and  easy  plan  for  excelling ;  but 
I  tell  you  that  unless  you  have  assimilated  the  final  dogmas — the 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     253 

eternal  truths — upon  which  those  things  rest,  consciously  if  you 
please,  but  subconsciously  of  necessity,  you  can  never  write  literature, 
however  clever  and  amusing  you  may  be.  Think  of  it,  and  you 
will  see  that,  from  the  literary  standpoint,  Catholic  dogma  is  merely 
the  witness,  under  a  special  symbolism  of  the  enduring  facts  of 
human  nature  and  the  universe ;  it  is  merely  the  voice  which  tells 
us  distinctly  that  man  is  not  the  creature  of  the  drawing-room  and 
the  Stock  Exchange,  but  a  lonely  awful  soul  confronted  by  the 
Source  of  all  Souls,  and  you  will  realise  that  to  make  literature  it  is 
necessary  to  be,  at  all  events,  subconsciously  Catholic.' 

GEORGE  MOORE 

'  There  was  a  certain  king  of  Bo — he . 

1  As  the  corporal  was  entering  the  confines  of  Bohemia, 
my  uncle  Toby  obliged  him  to  halt  for  a  certain  moment.' 

And  in  the  end,  in  spite  of  more  than  one  attempt  on 
the  good  corporal's  part  to  continue  his  story,  we  never 
know  any  more  about  it. 

Readers  of  the  Confessions  of  a  Young  Man  wonder 
whether  this  may  not  be  the  king  of  Bohemia  anticipated 
by  Corporal  Trim.  For  if  ever  there  were  a  true  king  of 
Bohemia,  it  was  George  Moore,  one  of  the  princes  of 
New  Athens,  the  literary  tavern  frequented  by  Villiers  de 
1'Isle  Adam,  Catulle  Mendes,  Degas  and  Manet. 

Mr.  George  Moore  was,  and  still  is,  what  the  Parisian 
milieu  where  he  spent  the  most  decisive  years  of  his 
youth  made  him. 

Somewhere  in  the  Confessions  he  writes  : — 

*  How  to  be  happy  !  not  to  read  Baudelaire  and  Verlaine,  not  to 
enter  the  Nouvelle  Athenes,  unless  perhaps  to  play  dominoes  like 
the  bourgeois  over  there,  not  to  do  anything  that  would  awake  too 
intense  consciousness  of  life  !  .  .  .' 

But  with  him  such  words  only  serve  to  further  vivify 
the  feeling  of  life  which  he  would  exasperate.  The  true 
Moore,  the  one  who  knows  himself,  is  the  one  who 
writes : — 


s 
254       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

'  I  am  a  sensualist  in  literature ;  I  may  see  perfectly  well  that  this 
or  that  book  is  a  work  of  genius,  but  if  it  doesn't  "  fetch  me "  it 
doesn't  concern  me,  and  I  forget  its  very  existence.  What  leaves 
me  cold  to-day  will  madden  me  to-morrow.  With  me  literature  is 
a  question  of  sense,  intellectual  sense,  if  you  will,  but  sense  all  the 
same,  and  ruled  by  the  same  caprices,  those  of  the  flesh  ! ' 

One  cannot  wish  for  a  deeper  confession.  A  few  pages 
further  on  he  adds  : — 

'  Oh  for  excess,  for  crime  !  I  would  give  many  lives  to  save  one 
sonnet  by  Baudelaire ;  for  the  hymn  '  A  la  tres-chtre,  a  la  tres-belle, 
qui  rcmplit  mon  cceur  de  clarte'  let  the  firstborn  in  every  house  in 
Europe  be  slain;  and  in  all  sincerity  I  profess  my  readiness  to 
decapitate  all  the  Japanese  in  Japan  and  elsewhere  to  save  from 
destruction  one  drawing  by  Hokusai.' 

What  could  be  more  Baudelairian  ? 

'I  did  not  go  to  either  Oxford  or  Cambridge,'  writes 
Mr.  Moore.  We  should  perhaps  congratulate  him  upon 
this,  did  he  not  congratulate  himself  so  much.  It  is  quite 
clear  that  through  making  a  very  mediocre  study  of  his 
humanities  he  gained  by  the  discovery  of  certain  things 
discovered  long  before  Homer.  Mr.  Moore  is  at  bottom 
a  primitive,  an  Irish  primitive  with  the  highly-strung 
nerves  of  a.  petite  maitresse,  the  spirit  of  his  race  rendered 
keen  by  his  commerce  with  Parisians,  and  above  all  the 
gift  of  seeing  the  comic  side  of  things. 

In  his  acute  perception  of  the  grotesque  he  reminds  us 
above  all  of  J.  K.  Huysmans  ;  and  indeed  no  French 
writer  had  more  influence  upon  him  than  Huysmans— 
the  most  personal  writer  of  the  later  nineteenth  century. 
Not  only  does  his  masterpiece,  Evelyn  Innes,  with  its 
study  of  mysticism  in  the  soul  of  a  great  artist  recall  the 
author  of  En  Route  on  every  page,  but  we  find  con- 
tinually the  same  artistic  method,  the  love  of  detail  for 
detail's  sake,  and  a  minute  analysis,  as  it  were,  of  facts  in 
themselves  minute. 

Evelyn  Innes  might  be  described  as  a   book  written 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     255 

round  music  with  erotic  intermezzi.     The  heroine  herself 
is  a  Huysmans  in  petticoats. 

One  understands  well  how  Evelyn  Innes  and  Sister 
Teresa  were  written,  partly  under  the  influence  of  the 
French  writer  who  furnished  the  artistic  mould,  and 
partly  with  the  writer's  own  experiences  (therein  again 
following  the  Huysmans  formula). 

The  author  of  En  Route  passes  from  naturalism  to 
mysticism  ;  it  is  disgust  that  purifies  his  soul  and  cleanses 
it  from  all  stain.  In  the  same  way,  Evelyn  Innes  *  de- 
ceiving Owen,  deceiving  her  father,  deceiving  Ulick, 
deceiving  Monsignor'  (p.  329)  feels  so  wearied  that  she 
thinks  of  killing  herself,  but  instead  becomes  '  Sister 
Teresa.'  The  extreme  sensitiveness  which  constitutes 
the  whole  character  of  Evelyn  Innes  must  fatally  have 
brought  her  to  that. 

The  great  difference  between  Huysmans  and  George 
Moore  lies  in  this,  that  the  French  writer  is  sincere  in  his 
conversion.  He  wants  to  be  a  better,  a  more  deserving 
man.  Too  long  was  he  busied  with  work  in  which  he 
did  not  believe.  Such  a  state  must  come  to  an  end. 
To  live  as  ...  we  all  live,  seems  miserable  to  him. 
Not  so  with  George  Moore. 

With  Evelyn  Innes  it  is  true  that  there  is  a  feeling  of 
the  impurity  of  her  life,  but  that  is  all.  '  It  was  her  sins 
of  the  flesh  that  she  wanted  to  confess,  and  this  argument 
about  the  Incarnation  had  begun  to  seem  out  of  place. 
Suddenly  it  seemed  to  her  inexpressibly  ludicrous  that 
she  should  be  kneeling  beside  the  priest'  (p.  395).  Is 
not  this  verily  George  Moore?  George  Moore,  the 
ironist?  Far  indeed  are  we  from  Huysmans  after  his 
confession. 

We  have  not  space  to  attempt  to  analyse  those  two 
long  novels  Evelyn  Innes  and  Sister  Teresa.  The  future 
will  know  if  they  are  masterpieces.  They  will  last  if  they 
are  true.  As  M.  Paul  Bourget  has  said,  '  All  the  magic 


256       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

of  a  talent  for  writing  is  powerless  to  preserve  a  work 
which  is  not  above  all  and  before  all  a  testimony  of  truth. 
The  Chateaubriand  of  the  Genie  du  Chris  tianisme,  of  the 
Martyrs,  of  Atala  even,  and  of  Rene,  would  be  but  a 
magnificent  name  if  there  were  not  also  the  Chateaubriand 
of  the  Memoires  d'outre-Tombe,  the  painter  of  Combourg.' 
It  was  doubtless  from  his  Flemish  forefathers  that 
Huysmans  inherited  this  gift  of  representing  the  cari- 
catural  aspect  of  man  and  things.  George  Moore,  who 
from  his  youth  detested  Ireland  and  her  religion  ('  two 
dominant  notes  in  my  character,  an  original  hatred  of 
my  native  country,  and  a  brutal  loathing  of  the  religion 
I  was  brought  up  in  ' — Confessions  of  a  Young  Man, 
chap,  ix),  was  already  prepared  to  see  the  ridiculous  side 
of  things. 

Under  the  influence  of  his  Parisian  surroundings  this 
taste  for  the  ugly  developed.  We  should  have  liked  to 
read  a  still  more  detailed  analysis  of  his  Parisian 
entourage.  Had  he  led  in  those  days  a  somewhat  more 
spiritual  life  he  would  have  discerned  in  all  these  de- 
cadents, these  mandarins  of  the  Nouvelle  Athenes  and 
elsewhere,  a  complacent  pride  at  the  sight  of  the  plati- 
tude of  humanity's  raillery,  what  a  seventeenth-century 
preacher  might  have  called  the  concupiscence  of  de- 
gradation. 

Possibly  at  this  time  Huysmans  had  not  the  great 
influence  upon  Moore  that  he  most  certainly  had  later  on. 
Mr.  Moore  speaks  continually  of  his  admiration  for 
Balzac,  herein  showing  his  taste  and  his  excellent  critical 
sense.  But  once  back  in  England  he  must  have  been 
clearly  attracted  by  that  incontestable  affinity  existing 
between  Huysmans  and  himself. 

Mr.  George  Moore  is  a  terrible  railer.  He  is  what 
the  French  call  narquois.  Lately,  he  has  returned  to  a 
manner  which,  in  1888,  seemed  premature:  that  of  the 
Confessions.  He  describes  for  us  the  Irish  literary  move- 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     257 

ment  of  the  last  fifteen  years,  in  which  he  has  been  one 
of  the  principal  actors. 

Madame  de  Boigne  of  the  famous  memoirs  used  to  say  : 
4  Do  you  want  to  know  why  Chateaubriand  is  greater 
than  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau?  Because  Chateaubriand 
always  felt,  even  in  his  youth,  that  he  would  one  day 
write  his  memoirs.  He  walked  through  life  with  this 
arriere-pensee.  That  was  his  conscience.'  And  doubtless 
Mr.  Moore  has  gone  through  life  with  the  same  purpose. 
But  certainly  this  has  not  been  his  conscience. 

As  he  writes  his  recollections,  he  has  none  of  that  thirst 
for  humiliation  which  a  penitent  may  feel,  but  far  rather 
the  aim  of  satisfying  his  innate  desire  to  humiliate  others. 
His  latest  volume  is  a  portfolio  of  cruel  caricatures.  He 
brings  us  to  a  certain  banquet  in  Dublin,  where  the 
apostles  of  the  movement  are  very  charmingly  dressed. 
Good  honest  Irishmen  become  really  grotesque  under  his 
caricatural  brush. 

He  is  very  Baudelairian  in  this  sense  that,  though 
ceaselessly  incredulous,  he  pretends  to  believe  in  this 
movement  of  Irish  faith.  This  is  a  terribly  deep  epicurism. 
Of  the  enthusiastic  ardour  of  the  Dublin  circle  he  has 
kept  just  enough  to  cook  us  a  very  spicy,  very  highly 
flavoured  dish. 

This  caricaturist  talent  which  cannot  stop  ridiculing 
everything  has  developed  with  time,  to  become  almost 
the  main  attraction  of  his  last  volume  Ave,  and  his 
articles  '  In  Search  of  Divinity.'  It  has  been  his  fortune 
to  know  Yeats  and  A.  E. — those  two  great  poets.  How 
does  the  author  of  Lake  Isle  of  Innisfree,  or  the  Countess 
Kathleen,  or  the  Wind  among  the  Reeds,  figure  under 
his  incisive  pen  ?  As  a  sort  of  crow  with  a  '  melancholy 
caw.'  That  is  the  picture  which  always  remains  in  the 
reader's  mind. 

Though  he  is  far  more  respectful  towards  George 
Russell — can  any  one  imagine  a  more  extraordinary 

R 


258       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

journey  than  that  descent  with  A.  E.  into  the  tumuli 
of  ancient  Ireland?  Really  one  regrets  that  the  writer 
should  have  put  the  author  of  Homeward  Songs  by  the 
Way  into  a  posture  which  has  a  touch  of  the  ridiculous, 
while  he  is  supposed  to  be  invoking  the  gods  of  Erin's 
antiquity. 

We  do  not  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the  episode,  but  surely 
there  was  another  way  of  looking  at  it,  and  the  whole 
incident  might  have  become  sublime  had  Mr.  Moore 
been  truly  touched.  To  borrow  a  sentence  from  the 
Confessions  of  a  Young  Man,  '  we  wonder  if  it  is  only 
une  blague  qu'on  nous  a  faite.' 

ALFRED  DOUGLAS 

'  In  the  salt  terror  of  a  stormy  sea 
There  are  high  altitudes  the  mind  forgets  ; 
And  undesired  days  are  hunting  nets 
To  snare  the  souls  that  fly  Eternity. 
But  we  being  gods  will  never  bow  the  knee, 
Though  sad  moons  shadow  every  sun  that  sets. 
And  tears  of  sorrow  be  like  rivulets 
To  feed  the  shallows  of  Humility. 
Within  my  soul  are  some  mean  gardens  found 
Where  drooped  flowers  are,  and  unsung  melodies, 
And  all  companioning  of  piteous  things. 
But  in  the  midst  is  one  high  terrace  ground, 
Where  level  lawns  sweep  through  the  stately  trees 
And  the  great  peacocks  walk  like  painted  kings.' 

City  of  the  Soul 

Is  not  this  very  beautiful  sonnet  a  confession  from 
Lord  Alfred  Douglas  of  his  Baudelairian  readings — 
another  setting  of  the  Samain  refrain  *  Mon  ame  est  une 
infante  en  robe  de  parade.'  To  make,  thanks  to  in- 
genious images,  a  verse  projection  of  one's  secret  soul 
was  the  delight  of  Lord  Alfred  Douglas,  following  in  his 
master's  footsteps.  When  he  writes, 

*  Or  if  fate  cries  and  grudging  gods  demur, 
To  clutch  Life's  hair,  and  thrust  one  naked  phrase 
Like  a  lean  knife  between  the  ribs  of  Time,' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND     259 

we  see  what  it  is  that  he  pursues ;  it  is  the  coloured  picture 
which  will  serve  to  translate  what  he  has  been  feeling, 
and  let  us  hasten  to  say  that  he  finds  most  admirable 
metaphors  which  are  indeed  the  exact  and  subtle  ex- 
pression of  his  sentiment. 

The  fact  that  Lord  Alfred  Douglas  was  received  into 
the  Catholic  Church  in  May  1911  far  from  astonishing 
confirms  us  in  the  opinion  that  he  is  a  true  symbolist.  For 
from  dawn  of  day  till  nightfall,  at  every  hour  marked  by 
liturgical  prayer  the  Catholic  lives  in  a  world  of  symbols. 
Not  only  the  biblical  images,  the  evangelical  parables,  but 
the  ceremonial  of  the  cult,  the  very  form  of  the  churches, 
everything  down  to  the  priest's  vestments  speaks  by  means 
of  symbols. 

Having  boarded  Baudelaire's  boat  he  floated  down  the 
river  of  ennui,  whence  he  saw 

*  The  earth  a  vision  of  affright, 
And  men  a  sordid  crowd, 
And  felt  the  fears,  and  drank  the  bitter  tears, 
And  saw  the  empty  houses  of  Delight.' 

Baudelaire's  influence  is  felt  in  such  poems  of  the  City 
of  the  Soul  as  *  The  Sphinx,'  *  Autumn  Days,'  *  To  Sleep,' 
and  there  are  also  in  this  volume  two  beautiful  translations 
from  Baudelaire,  'LeBalcon,'  and  <  Harmonie  du  Soir.' 
In  that  wonderful  slender  volume  of  sonnets  which 
appeared  in  1909,  not  the  least  beautiful  are  the  two 
translations  from  Baudelaire :  comprendre  c'est  egaler, 
and  the  converse  is  also  true. 

RICHARD  MIDDLETON 

There  is  a  certain  bronze,  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of 
antiquity's  legacies,  a  statue  of  Dionysos.  With  upraised 
finger  the  god  is  listening,  and  begs  of  you  to  listen,  to 
the  world's  mysterious  music.  When  you  see  it  you 
begin  to  walk  on  tiptoe. 

In  the  same  way,  the  poetry  of  Middleton  in  expressing 


26o      THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

the  distress  of  this  our  age  of  doubts  and  desires,  leads  us 
to  discover  the  sacred  beauty  of  the  Invisible  around  us. 

4  Beloved,  can  you  hear  ?    They  sing 
Words  that  no  mortal  lips  can  sound.  .  .  .' 

The    two    volumes    of    Middleton's   works   which   we 
possess   are  tremulous  with  the  thought  of  Death,   the 

inevitable, 

'  For  Death  is  upon  the  skies 
And  upon  us  all — ' 

with  the  thought  that  we  are  but  dreams,  and  that  the 
best  way  with  life  is  to  remain  for  ever  a  child,  or  at  least 
to  treasure  the  remembrance  of  our  childhood.  '  Our 
moments  are  the  ghosts  of  old  moments.' 

His  book  of  short  stories  guides  us  step  by  step  through 
the  corridors  of  Memory's  house  ;  we  remember  being 
children  among  children,  we  remember  being  ill  and  the 
pleasures  attendant  upon  our  illness.  With  the  exception 
of  The  Ghost  Ship  each  story  is  one  of  Memory's  unused 
chambers,  come  to  life  again  because  real,  living  children 
have  passed  through  it :  little  Edward,  who  is  after  all 
1  no  very  wonderful  little  boy ' ;  or  Jack,  the  postmaster's 
son,  consoling  himself  for  his  father's  imprisonment : 
4  Never  mind,  mother,  we  '11  help  him  to  escape ' ;  or  the 
shepherd's  boy,  a  hero  he  ;  or  again  the  Children  of  the 
Moon. 

Middleton's  sentences  are  woven  by  tender  fairy  hands 
—I  mean,  mothers'  or  old  nurses' — to  tuck  up  these  fleet- 
ing little  beings  in  the  gossamer  of  his  words. 

You  are  made  to  think  of  one  of  Baudelaire's  beautiful 
prose-poems,  Desespoir  de  la  Vieille,  and  you  ask  your- 
self: Is  not  Middleton  just  what  Baudelaire  held  im- 
prisoned in  his  heart?  Is  he  not  that  mysterious  something 
that  was  ever  striving  to  gush  forth  from  Baudelaire's 
heart,  but  never  could  ? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Middleton  knew  his  Baudelaire. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  ENGLAND    261 

It  is  enough  to  compare  On  the  Brighton  Road,  Children 
of  the  Moon,  Blue  Blood,  with  the  prose-poems  Le  Ver  el 
le  Cimetiere,  Deja,  les  Vocations,  to  see  to  what  a  pitch 
the  English  writer  was  impregnated  with  the  French  one. 
*  Something  conscious  of  the  intolerable  evil  called  life  ' 
animates  both  of  them.  Both  were  men  who  did  nothing 
but  dream  and  gaze  out  of  the  window,  (A  Wet  Day,  les 
Fenetres). 

Mr.  Henry  Savage  saw  that  Middleton,  '  Dionysian  of 
spirit  and  broken,  invites  comparison  with  Wilde,'  a 
fortiori  with  Baudelaire. 

Barbey  d'Aurevilly  wrote  to  Baudelaire  that  the  only 
thing  for  the  latter  to  do  was  either  to  become  a  Christian 
...  or  blow  his  brains  out.  Richard  Middleton  died  by 
his  own  hand. 

And  here  we  must  leave  the  consideration  of  the 
Baudelairian  spirit  in  literature.  The  influence  continues 
to  make  itself  felt — sometimes  clearly  and  definitely, 
sometimes  combining  with  other  influences  and  working 
more  darkly,  but  always  in  such  a  way  as  to  justify  our 
placing  of  Baudelaire  among  those  men  but  for  whom  in 
some  way,  great  or  small,  literature  had  been  other  than 
it  is. 


PART    VI 


THE    BAUDELAIRIAN    SPIRIT 
IN    PAINTING 

1 

IN  order  to  understand  the  pictures  of  a  school  of  painting, 
or  even  the  work  of  a  great  master,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
the  moral  atmosphere  in  which  he  lived,  or  thanks  to  which 
the  painter  and  his  disciples  have  created  their  masterpieces. 

Painting  is  the  representation  of  nature  and  of  life  by 
means  of  drawing  and  colour,  but  it  is  necessarily  neither 
the  whole  of  nature  nor  the  whole  of  life.  Who  says  art, 
says  choice,  and  it  is  obvious  that  one  age  will  make  a 
choice  which  another  will  merely  ridicule. 

Thus  the  old  Italian  masters  sought  their  inspiration  in 
the  Scriptures,  while  the  great  seventeenth-century  Dutch 
school  desired  only  to  paint  scenes  of  private  life  or 
certain  features  of  national  landscape. 

Charles  Lebrun,  who  guides  the  course  of  the  seven- 
teenth-century art  in  France,  draws  his  inspiration  from 
sacred  and  mythological  subjects,  despising  those  of 
contemporary  life. 

Then  Watteau,  and  after  him  Lancret,  Pater,  Boucher, 
Fragonard,  Troy,  Charles  Coypel,  Van  Loo,  are  the 
artists  of  the  Surprises,  Joys,  and  Sorrows  of  Love. 

David  and  his  school,  forcing  themselves  to  imitate  a 
kind  of  pseudo-antiquity,  turn  to  Roman  (or  Napoleonic) 
history. 

We  see,  then,  that  painting  which  represents  life  is  as 
varied  as  life  itself.  And  thus  it  is  not  surprising  that 
from  time  to  time  an  artist  should  be  born  who  is  no 
longer  content  with  painting  material  objects,  but  who 

265 


266       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

aims  at  painting  ideas.  After  all,  ideas  are  a  part  of  life, 
since  it  is  thought  that  orders  life.  Now,  if  it  be  possible  to 
find  clear  traces  of  the  influence  of  literature  on  painting,  it 
is  in  the  study  of  this  class  of  artists  that  we  must  seek  them. 

In  the  seventeenth  century  in  France,  Nicolas  Poussin 
is  assuredly  the  representative  of  cartesianism  in  painting. 
When  he  says,  speaking  of  colours,  i  Nos  appetits  n'en 
doivent  pas  juger  seulement,  mais  aussi  la  raison,'  he 
is  a  true  disciple  of  Boileau  with  his  dictum,  '  Suivez 
done  la  raison.  .  .  .' 

Therefore  he  is  not  content  with  putting  in  his  land- 
scapes a  man  who  passes  on  his  way,  or  a  woman  carrying 
fruit  to  market.  He  generally  places  therein  thinking 
figures  to  awaken  our  thought ;  men  who  are  influenced 
by  passion,  in  order  to  awaken  our  passions.1 

In  the  same  way — without  seeking  further  afield — the 
English  painter  Watts  with  his  mythical  art  explains  the 
cry  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  that  Art  is  the  inter- 
preter of  the  holy  things  which  happen  beyond  the  veil. 

Now,  between  1824  and  1860  there  was  working  a  very 
great  painter,  quite  different  from  Poussin  as  regards 
drawing,  and  yet  like  him  in  that  he  too  believed  that 
'  inventer  dans  un  art,  c'est  penser  et  sentir  dans  cet  art.' 

It  will  be  in  such  a  painter  that  we  shall  find  (if  it  is  to 
be  found)  the  influence  of  literature  in  general  or,  let  us 
say,  of  certain  ideas  in  particular. 

For  us,  the  interest  lies  in  seeing  whether  the  ideas  of 
the  painter  Delacroix  are  to  be  found  in  the  poet  Baude- 
laire, and  vice  versa. 

First  of  all,  we  would  say  then  that  at  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century  no  painter  felt  himself  to  be  so 
much  the  contemporary  of  the  poets  among  whom  he 
lived  as  Delacroix,  no  painter  interpreted  certain  literary 
scenes  with  such  passion,  nor  dramatised  history  with 
such  eloquence  ;  and  none  was  so  nobly  appreciated  nor 

1  Du  Bos,  Reflexions  critiques  sur  la  poesie  et  la  ptinture>  1719. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING     267 

so  justly  celebrated  by  Baudelaire  himself,  both  in  his 
important  critical  articles  and  in  the  ever  famous  lines  : — 

*  Delacroix,  lac  de  sang,  hante  de  mauvais  anges, 
Ombrage  par  tin  bois  de  sapins  toujours  vert, 
Ou,  sous  un  ciel  chagrin,  des  fanfares  etranges 
Passent  comme  un  soupir  etouffe  de  Weber.3 

No  one  has  ever  criticised  Delacroix  better  than  Baude- 
laire in  the  following  passages  : — 

'  What  Delacroix  has  translated  better  than  any  one  else  is  the  un- 
translatable, the  impalpable,  the  dream,  the  nerves,  the  soul;  and 
he  has  done  all  this  without  other  means  than  form  and  colour ;  he 
has  done  it  better  than  any  one  else,  with  the  perfection  of  a  con- 
summate painter,  with  the  precision  of  a  subtle  man  of  letters,  the 
eloquence  of  a  passionate  musician.  However,  it  is  one  of  the 
symptoms  of  the  spiritual  condition  of  our  century  that  the  arts  aspire 
to,  if  not  supplementing  one  another,  at  least  to  lending  each  other  new 
forces. 

'  Delacroix  is  the  most  suggestive  of  all  painters,  the  artist  whose 
works,  even  if  you  make  a  choice  among  the  secondary  and  weaker 
ones,  give  rise  to  the  most  thought,  and  call  to  mind  the  greatest 
number  of  poetical  feelings  and  thoughts  known,  but  which  were 
believed  to  be  buried  for  ever  in  the  night  of  the  past.' 

And  then  Baudelaire  adds  these  profound  lines  : — 

'  Every  one  knows  that  yellow,  orange,  red,  inspire  and  represent 
ideas  of  joy,  riches,  glory  and  love.  .  .  .  The  art  of  the  colourist  is 
evidently  related  on  some  sides  to  mathematics  and  music.' 

What  we  must  again  point  out  is  the  way  in  which 
Baudelaire  characterises  Delacroix,  and  that  in  which 
Theophile  Gautier  in  his  turn  characterises  Baudelaire. 
For  while  Gautier  points  out  in  Baudelaire 

'the  morbidly  rich  shades  of  decay  in  a  more  or  less  advanced 
stage,  those  tones  of  pearl  and  mother-of-pearl,  like  ice  covering 
over  stagnant  waters ;  hectic  flushes,  consumptive  pallor,  this 
jaundiced  ochre  of  extravasated  bile,  leaden  greys  of  mephitic 
mist,  and  all  the  scale  of  tortured  colours  carried  to  the  highest 
point,  corresponding  to  autumn,  sunset,  over-ripe  fruits,  and  the 
last  hours  of  civilisations,' 


268       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Baudelaire  admires  in  Delacroix,  as  we  have  just  seen, 
le  lac  de  sang,  hante  de  mauvais  anges.  In  describing 
him  he  speaks  of  the  cruelty  of  his  expression.1 

He  also  speaks  (as  we  shall  see  a  little  further  on)  of  the 
violet  or  greenish  backgrounds  which  reveal  the  phos- 
phorescence of  decay  and  the  hint  of  storm. 

What  at  once  strikes  the  student  of  Baudelaire  and 
Delacroix  is  the  restlessness  of  both  painter  and  poet. 
They  have  neither  calm  strength  nor  serene  beauty. 

Delacroix's  characters,  like  Baudelaire's,  like  Baudelaire 
himself,  struggle  and  are  contorted — they  are  always  the 
damned  of  Delacroix's  famous  picture  '  Dante  and  Virgil.' 
Both  these  artists  are  painters  of  violence  :  from  some  of 
Delacroix's  pictures,  as  from  some  of  Baudelaire's  poems, 
there  emanates  the  odour  of  the  charnel-house. 

A  study  of  Delacroix's  heads  suggests  the  idea  that  he 
was  realising  an  ideal  of  cruelty.  The  eyes  have  a  faun- 
like  expression,  the  jaws  a  tigerish  ferocity.  It  is  in 
creating  monsters  that  his  talent  reaches  its  height. 

If  the  resemblance  between  the  two  men  is  to  be 
accentuated,  the  critic  has  only  to  study  the  interiors 
in  which  Delacroix  seeks  by  the  aid  of  voluptuous  half 
shades  to  render  the  charm  of  the  female  body. 

For  ourselves,  if  we  had  to  sum  up,  in  a  few  lines,  the 
art  of  the  painter  and  the  revolution  he  brought  about,  and 
the  art  of  the  poet  and  the  revolution  he  brought  about, 
we  would  apply  the  same  words  to  both — we  would  say  : 
4  Both  restored  to  colour  all  its  rights  and  importance — 
the  one  in  painting,  the  other  in  poetry.' 

We  have  only  to  think  of  the  school  of  David  and  the 
grey  ideal  it  had  imposed  for  thirty  years. 

We  have  only  to  consider  the  grey  style  of  the  erotic 

1  '  II  a  pu  quelquefois,  car  il  ne  manquait  certes  de  tendresse,  consacrer  son 
pinceau  a  1'expression  de  sentiments  tendres  et  voluptueux,  mais  la  encore  1'in- 
guerissable  amertume  etait  repandue a  forte  dose,  et  1'insouciance  et  lajoie  en 
etaientabsentes.' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING    269 

school  before  Baudelaire,  and  its  chief  Parny.  Is  it 
possible  to  imagine  a  language  which  could  be  thinner, 
drier,  more  insipid  ? 

Both,  too,  created  '  new  thrills,'  by  revealing  the 
affinities  of  our  senses  :  Delacroix  by  rendering  painting, 
as  it  were,  musical,  combining  his  luminous  vibrations  so 
as  to  make  a  harmony  of  them  ;  Baudelaire  seeking  above 
all  to  make  artistic  transpositions. 

To  be  exact,  we  must  point  out  that  it  was  the  English 
spirit  which  revealed  them  to  themselves.  With  Baude- 
laire there  is  no  doubt  about  it — we  have  shown  how  he 
studied  Poe.  As  for  Delacroix,  not  only  was  he  friendly 
with  Bonnington  and  Thales  Fielding,  but  he  had  an  almost 
instinctive  love  of  English  romantic  literature.  It  was 
this  taste  which  led  him  to  visit  London  in  1823,  on  which 
occasion  he  admired  Kean  in  several  Shakespearean  roles, 
and  Terry  as  Mephistopheles  in  an  adaptation  of  Faust. 

But  the  most  interesting  proof  of  their  resemblance  lies 
in  the  fact  that  they  each  created  a  similar  school.  Both 
were  the  fathers  of  impressionism — the  one  of  impres- 
sionism in  painting,  the  other  of  impressionism  in  poetry. 

When  Poussin  says  :  *  The  pretty  girls  who  pass  by  in 
the  streets  of  Nimes  at  their  appearance  delight  the  mind 
no  less  than  the  beautiful  columns  of  the  Maison  Carree, 
seeing  that  the  latter  are  but  copies  of  the  former,'  the 
thought  though  deep  is  but  the  thought  of  a  draughtsman. 

If  we  wish  to  know  what  thoughts  were  suggested  to 
Delacroix  by  beautiful  forms  in  the  sun,  we  have  only  to 
consult  his  Journal.  He  tells  us  how  one  day  he  notices 
the  effect  of  the  ragamuffins  who  climb  up  the  statues  of 
the  fountain  in  the  Place  St.  Sulpice,  and  of  the  raboteur 
he  sees  from  his  window  in  the  gallery. 

He  notes  how  much  in  the  latter  the  half-tints  of  the 
flesh  are  coloured  in  comparison  with  the  inert  matter,  and 
he  adds  :  *  Flesh  has  its  true  colour  only  in  the  open  air.' 

Thus  while  Poussin  sees  the  subject  as  a  sculptor,  while 


270       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

what  he  aims  at  rendering  is  attitude,  Delacroix  is  indeed 
intoxicated  with  what  he  sees.  Born  with  a  highly  im- 
pressionable eye,  he  was  continually  studying  and  seeking 
his  way  till  the  day  when  Constable's  pictures  were  ex- 
hibited in  Paris.  His  notes  and  his  letters  prove  that  he 
felt  absolutely  dazzled  by  these  paintings. 

Seeking  to  enter  into  rivalry  with  the  English  painter 
he  soon  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  strokes  should 
never  be  blended.  We  read  in  his  Journal  : — 

'  Green  and  violet  tones  put  on  crudely,  here  and  there  in  the 
light  part  without  mixing  them  .  .  .  green  and  violet :  with  these 
shades  it  is  indispensable  to  put  them  on  one  after  the  other,  and 
not  mix  them  on  the  palette.' 

Then  the  question  arises  :  what  law  shall  preside  at 
this  juxtaposition  of  strokes?  Delacroix  discovered  it  by 
chance  after  noticing  a  yellow  carriage  with  its  violet 
shadow.1  When  he  was  engaged  on  painting  a  yellow 
drapery  which  he  could  not  make  bright  enough  he  under- 
stood the  lesson  that  the  yellow  carriage  was  teaching  him. 
From  that  moment  he  set  himself  to  study  the  laws  of 
complementary  colours  and  their  modifications  by  light. 

He  seems  to  have  been  the  first  to  foresee  the  recom- 
position  on  the  retina  of  the  colours  that  are  separated  on 
the  canvas.  Thus  he  was  really,  as  Paul  Signac  calls 
him,  the  ancestor  of  the  impressionists. 

In  the  same  way  Baudelaire  is  the  ancestor  of  the 
impressionist  poets.  At  the  same  time  as  Gautier,  but 
certainly  better  than  he,  he  not  only  makes  an  extra- 
ordinary transposition  of  art,  but  he  is  the  standard- 
bearer  of  all  the  younger  generation  who  loved  the  violent, 
convulsed,  and  tragic  side  of  nature. 

Joubert  said  of  Bernardin  de  Saint  Pierre  : — 

*  There  is  in  his  style  a  prism  which  tires  the  eyes.  When  you 
have  been  reading  him  for  a  long  time  you  are  delighted  to  see  the 

1  Th6ophile  Silvestre,  Les  artistes  fran$ais . 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING     271 

plants  and  trees  less  highly  coloured  in  the  country  than  in  his 
writings.' 

One  wonders  what  he  would  have  said  of  Baudelaire, 
for  greater  brush  magic  is  not  to  be  desired. 

We  will  content  ourselves  with  quoting  a  few  lines  of 
Charles  Asselineau  (see  Appendix  to  Fleurs  du  Mai,  p.  391) 
which  give  a  wonderfully  good  idea  of  the  reader's  im- 
pression on  reading  Baudelaire  : — 

'  The  piece  "  Parfum  Exotique "  is  remarkable  for  this  faculty 
of  seizing  upon  the  imperceptible  and  giving  a  picturesque  reality  to 
the  most  subtle  and  fleeting  sensations.  The  poet  seated  beside  his 
mistress  one  autumn  evening  is  intoxicated  by  a  warm  perfume  ;  he 
finds  in  this  perfume  something  strange  and  exotic  which  makes 
him  dream  of  far-off  lands,  and  immediately  there  pass  by  in 
the  mirror  of  his  thought  blessed  banks,  dazzled  by  the  sun's  fires, 
languid  islets  where  curious  trees  grow,  Indians  with  lithe  active 
bodies,  women  with  bold  look. 

'  Je  vois  un  port  rempli  de  voiles  et  de  mats 
Encor  tout  fatigues  par  la  vague  marine, 
Pendant  que  le  parfum  des  verts  tamariniers, 
Qui  circule  dans  Pair  et  m'enfle  la  narine, 
Se  mele  dans  mon  ame  au  chant  des  mariniers  ! 

'  If  I  wanted  to  cite  other  proofs  of  this  rare  magical  faculty  of 
picturesque  creation,  examples  would  flow  from  my  pen.  Since 
I  am  forced  to  limit  myself,  having  been  too  diffuse,  I  can 
only  refer  the  reader  to  the  pieces  called  les  Phares,  la  Muse 
Malade,  le  Gutgnon,  la  Vie  Anterieure^  De  Profundis  clamavi, 
le  Balcon,  la  Cloche  ft  lee,  etc.' 

It  pleases  us  to  put  forward  contemporary  opinions  on 
this  subject,  and  here  is  what  a  master — Barbey  d'Aurevilly 
— thought  of  Baudelaire's  style  : — 

'  Picture  to  yourself  something  in  flamboyant  Gothic  or  Moorish 
architecture  applied  to  this  simple  construction  which  has  a  subject, 
object,  and  verb  \  then  in  the  crumblings  and  flutings  of  a  sentence 
which  takes  as  many  diverse  forms  as  would  crystal,  imagine  all  that 
is  richest  and  strongest  in  every  spice,  every  alcohol,  every  poison, 


272       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal,  which  is  drawn  out  of  the  heart  of 
man — if  they  could  be  rendered  visible,  and  you  have  Baudelaire's 
poetry,  this  sinister,  violent,  heartrending,  deadly  poetry,  approached 
by  nothing  in  the  most  sombre  works  of  this  age  which  is  conscious 
of  its  approaching  death.' 

Baudelaire  always  respected  the  laws  of  syntax  ;  the 
poet,  in  the  same  way  as  Delacroix  compared  with  the  neo- 
impressionists,  is  a  classic  compared  with  the  decadents. 

But  his  great  disciple  Huysmans  was  soon  to  appear, 
and  he  was  to  disarticulate  and  dissect  his  language.  Let 
us  take,  for  example,  the  passage  that  M.  Paul  Bourget 
quotes  in  his  Etudes  et  Portraits,  the  passage  which  is  to 
be  found  in  Huysmans'  novel  En  Menage : — 

*  Then  add  a  wild  hubbub,  hoarse  shouts,  answered  by  the  shrill 
rattle — like  women's  voices ;  then  on  every  side,  under  the  verdi- 
grised  tarpaulins,  the  flapping  of  blue  and  white  workmen's  blouses, 
red  notes  struck  by  the  jerseys,  spots  of  mauve  daubed  in  by 
the  striped  blouses  of  the  butchers ;  finally  the  white  of  women's 
coifs,  and  the  sable  in  the  ceaseless  rise  and  fall  of  caps  in  the 
endless  tide  of  heads.' 

'  Examine  this  sentence,'  says  M.  Bourget,  '  limb  by  limb,  putting 
aside  all  your  recollections  of  classical  prose.  Is  it  not  true  that  the 
writer  sees  in  objects  no  longer  their  line  but  their  stroke,  the  kind 
of  discordant  hole  they  make  upon  the  uniform  background  of  day, 
and  that  the  almost  barbaric  decomposition  of  adjective  and  sub- 
stantive seems  to  produce  itself  naturally;  les  noirs  des  casquettes  .  .  . 
les  coups  de  rouge  des giletsl  .  .  .' 

We  will  take  Certains  and  open  it  at  random.  Here  is 
a  description  of  the  entry  of  the  crusaders  into  Constanti- 
nople. After  having  described  the  abject  fatigue  of  their 
faces,  he  shows  us  the  '  fumees  de  sentiments  qui  passent 
sur  elles,'  and,  doubtless  to  show  us  to  what  point  he 
follows  the  precepts  of  his  master,  speaks  to  us  of  a  'hallali 
de  flammes  de  couleurs  sur  un  fond  d'ocean  et  de  ciel  d'un 
splendide  bleu.' 

If  we  open  En  Route  again,  what  finer  transposition  of 
art  can  be  found  than  this  passage  : — 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING    273 

'  These  children's  voices  stretched  to  breaking  point,  these  clear 
sharp  voices  threw  into  the  darkness  of  the  chant  the  paleness 
of  dawn;  joining  the  pure  soft  muslin  of  their  notes  to  the  sounding 
bronze  of  the  basses,  piercing  as  with  a  jet  of  living  silver  the 
sombre  cataract  of  the  deeper  voices,  they  sharpened  the  wailing, 
strengthened  and  embittered  the  burning  salt  of  tears,  but  also 
insinuated  a  kind  of  protective  caress,  balsamic  cool,  lustral  aid: 
they  lit  up  in  the  darkness  those  brief  gleams  which  tinkle  in  the 
angelus  at  dawn ;  they  evoked,  anticipating  the  prophecies  of  the 
text,  the  compassionate  image  of  the  Virgin,  who  in  the  pale  light 
of  their  notes,  passed  into  the  night  of  that  chant.' 

Baudelaire  never  went  quite  so  far  as  this  in  language, 
but  he  had  shown  the  way  with  this  sentence  on  Edgar 
Poe:— 

'Like  our  great  Eugene  Delacroix,  who  raised  his  art  to  the 
height  of  great  poetry,  Edgar  Poe  loves  to  make  his  figures  act 
upon  greenish  violet  backgrounds  whereon  are  revealed  the  phos- 
phorescence of  decay  and  the  scent  of  storm.' 

In  En  Route  Huysmans  has  written  some  such  as- 
tonishing pages  that  we  no  longer  read  his  book  for  the 
sake  of  the  story,  but  rather  to  admire  the  mastery — one 
might  almost  say  the  butcherly  mastery — with  which  he 
makes  martyr  of  his  language. 

Let  us  sum  up.  Baudelaire  and  Delacroix  are  expres- 
sions of  their  age.  By  their  teaching,  by  their  work, 
they  have  gained  admirers  and  disciples,  but  herein  their 
age  too  has  been  a  great  help  to  them. 

In  no  age  was  so  much  attention  paid  to  science  and 
exotism.  Through  science  the  painter  was  able  to  com- 
pose a  wonderful  chromatic  repertoire  for  himself. 

On  the  exotic  side  Japanese  influence  too  was  to  make 
itself  felt,  bringing  with  it,  as  it  were,  a  new  conception 
of  art — (the  conception  was  in  nowise  new.  Hokusai's 
work  reminds  Edmond  de  Goncourt  of  the  delightful 
gribouillis  of  Gabriel  de  St.  Aubin),  or  at  least  an  old 
conception  which  appeared  new,  and  which  seemed,  in  its 
exotism,  a  more  delightful  form  of  impressionism. 

s 


274       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

II 

But  when  the  influence  of  Delacroix,  and  the  relation 
between  the  minds  of  Delacroix  and  Baudelaire  have  been 
pointed  out,  we  have  not  finished  with  the  subject  of 
Baudelairism  in  painting. 

Baudelaire  had  in  time  become  a  force  and  in  his  turn 
reacted  upon  certain  artistic  minds,  and  on  the  most 
sensitive  and  the  most  literary  of  these — such  as  Gustave 
Moreau,  Degas,  Odilon  Redon,  the  etcher  Rops,  and  that 
exquisite  draughtsman  who  in  his  turn  is  also  a  creator — 
Aubrey  Beardsley. 

The  side  of  Baudelaire  that  influenced  Moreau  is  the 
artificial  side.  Theophile  Gautier,  speaking  of  Baude- 
laire's curious  poem,  called  *  Reve  Parisien,'  and  which  is 
dedicated  to  Constantin  Guys  (who  is  so  little  known  and 
so  interesting),  wrote  the  following  lines  : — 

'  Imagine  an  extra-natural  landscape,  or  rather  a  perspective  com- 
posed of  metal,  marble  and  water,  and  from  which  the  vegetable  is 
banished  as  being  irregular.  Everything  is  rigid,  polished,  glistening 
under  a  sunless,  moonless,  starless  sky.  In  the  midst  of  the  silence 
of  eternity  there  rise  up,  lit  by  their  own  fire,  palaces,  turrets, 
colonnades,  staircases,  reservoirs  whence  great  cataracts  fall 
like  crystal  curtains.  Blue  waters  frame  themselves  like  the  steel  of 
antique  mirrors  in  the  quays  and  bronze  basins,  where  precious 
stones  flow  silently  under  the  bridges.  The  liquid  is  set  in 
crystalline  rays,  and  the  porphyry  flags  on  the  terrace  reflect 
the  surrounding  objects  like  a  looking-glass.  The  Queen  of  Sheba 
walking  there  would  have  held  up  her  gown  fearing  to  make  her 
feet  wet,  so  shining  are  the  surfaces.  The  style  of  this  piece  is  as 
brilliant  as  polished  black  marble.' 

Does  not  this  read  like  an  ante-dated  description  of 
some  of  Moreau's  paintings? 

If  we  turn  once  more  to  Huysmans'  Certains  (for  it  is 
always  to  him  that  we  have  recourse  when  there  is 
question  of  describing  certain  pictures),  we  find  this 
description  of  Gustave  Moreau's  work  : — 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING    275 

1  Upon  this  background  with  its  terrible  turmoil  there  pass  to  and 
fro  in  silence  women,  some  nude,  some  clad  in  stuffs  embroidered 
with  uncut  gems  like  the  bindings  of  old  missals,  women  with  silky 
flaxen  hair ;  pale  blue  eyes,  fixed  and  hard ;  with  flesh  of  icy  milk-like 
whiteness ;  motionless  Salomes  holding  in  a  basin  the  head  of  the 
Forerunner  preserved  in  phosphorus,  and  sending  forth  rays  of  light 
under  quincunxes  with  twisted  leaves  of  a  green  so  dark  it  is  almost 
black;  goddesses  riding  upon  hippogriffs,  striping  with  their  lapis 
wings  the  agony  of  the  dying  skies ;  crowned  female  idols,  erect  on 
their  thrones  whose  steps  are  lost  under  weird  flowers,  or  seated  in 
rigid  positions  upon  elephants  whose  foreheads  are  swathed  in  green, 
their  chests  covered  with  orphrey,  with  long  pearls  sewn  on  like 
cavalry  bells,  elephants  who  trampled  upon  their  massive  reflection 
shown  in  a  pool  rippled  by  the  columns  of  their  huge  braceleted 
legs.' 

Here,  Huysmans  strives  to  rival  the  painter  in  richness 
of  colour.1  We  will  only  say  in  our  turn  that  Gustave 
Moreau,  who  early  shut  himself  up  in  his  ivory  tower 
(like  so  many  nineteenth-century  artists  whose  motto  is 
Odi  profanum  vulgus),  was  seeking  all  his  life,  while  he 
painted  antique  myth  in  magnificent  background,  to 
express  the  sadness  of  another  Baudelaire — a  Baudelaire 
who  was  gnawing  at  his  heart. 

How  far  removed  are  these  Salomes,  these  Jasons, 
these  Venuses,  these  Herodiases,  these  Centaurs  from  the 
conception  of  ancient  myth  or  of  the  Bible  !  It  is  the 
nineteenth-century  malady  that  racks  them,  and  their 
languor  and  their  sadness  are  rendered  the  more  profound 
by  these  fantastic  landscapes  which  intoxicate  and  dazzle. 

If  we  wish  to  understand  to  what  extent  Gustave  Moreau 
is  Baudelairian,  we  have  only  to  think  of  Puvis  de 

1  A  page  from  Huysmans'  La  Cathtdrale  furnishes  further  proof  of  the  way 
in  which  the  writer  of  this  school  utilises  the  painter's  weapons.  Huysmans 
wants  to  convey  to  us  that  the  character  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  who  visited 
Solomon  is  in  the  highest  degree  interesting.  You  might  expect  him  to  refer 
you  to  a  contemporary  French  psychologian.  Not  at  all.  He  has  recourse  to 
a  painter,  to  Gustave  Moreau,  as  if  this  artist's  brush  were  capable  of  expressing 
by  means  of  colour  the  shades  of  this  mysterious  queen's  soul. 


276       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Chavannes,  who  is  a  kind  of  Virgil.  There  is  no  better 
rendering  of  this  painter's  art  than  those  lines  of 

Virgil,'  ' 

*  Devenere  locos  laetos  et  amoena  vireta 
Fortunatorum  nemorum,  sedesque  beatas. 
Largior  hie  campus  aether  et  lumine  vestit 
Purpureo  ;  solemque  suum,  sua  sidera  norunt,' 

just  as  no  landscape  is  more  elysian  than  that  of  Puvis  de 
Chavannes. 

We  cannot  hope  to  study  here  the  work  of  such  artists 
as  Degas,  the  master,  as  Forain,  his  pupil,  as  Felicien 
Rops,  or  as  Odilon  Redon.  In  all  of  them  we  find  the 
same  condition  of  mind,  the  same  feeling  of  contempt,  of 
hatred  even  for  the  world  they  live  in.  Odilon  Redon  in 
order  to  escape  from  it  paints  macabre  and  somnambulic 
figures,  which  distantly  recall  those  of  Gustave  Moreau, 
and  with  him  nightmare  re-enters  art — for  the  love  of  the 
grotesque  is  of  all  time. 

Felicien  Rops — intellectually  libertine  and  morally  vir- 
tuous— like  Watteau,  threw  himself  into  Satanism,  and 
it  is  to  him  far  more  than  to  Goethe  that  this  passage  of 
Emerson  applies  : — 

'Take  the  most  remarkable  example  that  could  occur  of  this 
tendency  to  verify  every  term  in  popular  use.  The  Devil  has 
played  an  important  part  in  mythology  in  all  times.  Goethe  would 
have  no  word  that  does  not  cover  a  thing  * 

(how  well  that  applies  to  Rops  !) 

'  so  he  flies  at  the  throat  of  this  imp.  He  shall  be  real,  he  shall 
be  modern,  he  shall  dress  "  like  a  gentleman "  and  walk  in  the 
streets,  and  be  well  initiated  in  the  life  of  Vienna  and  of  Heidelberg 
in  1820 — or  he  shall  not  exist.  .  .  .  He  found  that  the  essence  of 
this  hobgoblin  which  had  hovered  in  shadow  about  the  habitations 
of  men,  ever  since  there  were  men,  was  pure  intellect  applied — as 
always  there  is  a  tendency — to  the  service  of  the  senses.  .  .  .' l 

1  Emerson,  Representative  Men  :  'Goethe  or  the  Writer.' 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING     277 

As  for  Degas  and  Forain,  who  are  both  exceedingly 
powerful  artists,1  they  took  from  Baudelaire  his  love  of 
realism — not  the  simple  realism  of  Courbet,  but  a  realism 
which  is  able,  while  remaining  always  open,  to  show  us 
the  reality  which  lies  hid  under  the  appearance  of  things. 


III.  AUBREY  BEARDSLEY 

A  study  of  Baudelairism  in  painting  would  be  in- 
complete did  we  not  speak  of  a  young  artist  who  met 
with  premature  death  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  and  who 
might  be  called  the  Baudelaire  of  the  pencil  —  a  Baudelaire 
in  miniature,  unhealthy,  feminine,  and  in  nowise  classic. 

With  his  first  works  Aubrey  Beardsley  became  cele- 
brated —  his  drawings  went  further  than  those  of  the 
artists  of  the  moment,  they  haunted  you  for  whole  days 
together,  and  took  you  into  the  mysterious  and  terrible 
country  whose  gates  Botticelli's  angels  seem  to  open 
rather  than  to  guard. 

Critics  who  study  his  drawings  (for  practically  all 
Aubrey  Beardsley's  work  is  pen  and  ink  drawing)  always 
discern  the  influence  of  Burne  Jones  on  the  young  artist. 
And  we  know  that  it  was  from  Botticelli  that  Burne  Jones 
took  his  women's  faces,  lengthening  the  chin,  sensualis- 
ing  the  lips,  and  hollowing  the  middle  of  the  face.  Are 
we  then  to  attribute  the  magic  of  Beardsley's  work  to 
a  single  artifice  in  drawing?  No,  for  we  have  certain 
drawings  and  some  letters  which  explain  the  peculiar 
character  and  the  Baudelairism  of  his  art.  In  that 
collection  of  his  Last  Letters  we  find  this  passage  :  — 

'  Do  you  know  of  Fr.  Philpin  of  the  Brompton  oratory  ?  He  is, 
I  believe,  the  doyen  of  the  community  and  a  considerable  painter. 


1  Cf.  Huysmans'Z'ar/iWdkrw^p.  120:  Quand  comprendra-t-onquecepeintre 
(Degas)  est  le  plus  grand  que  nous  possedions  aujourd'hui  en  France?  Je  ne 
suis  pas  prophete,  mais  si  j'en  juge  par  1'ineptie  des  classes  e'claire'es  qui,  apres 
avoir  longtemps  honni  Delacroix,  ne  se  doute  pas  encore  que  Baudelaire  est  le 
poete  de  genie  du  XIX6  siecle,  qu'il  domine  de  cent  pieds  tous  les  autres.  .  .  .' 


278       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

But  what  a  stumbling-block  such  pious  men  must  find  in  the 
practice  of  their  art.' 

This  is  an  illuminating-  passage  on  the  conception  that 
Beardsley  had  of  his  art. 

Aubrey  Beardsley  saw  that  Burne  Jones  only  arrived 
at  the  mannered  elegance  of  his  figures,  and  at  the  now 
reflective,  now  evil  passion  of  their  attitude  by  violating 
certain  laws  of  drawing  (for  example,  by  drawing  people 
eight  and  a  half  heads  high). 

So  in  his  turn  he  set  himself  to  dislocate  and  exaggerate 
limbs  as  Burne  Jones  had  done  before  him.1  He  gave 
rein  to  his  fancy,  and  his  drawings  were  veritable 
stumbling-blocks  for  every  one  but  himself. 

The  Japanese,  as  was  to  be  expected,  early  had  a  great 
influence  on  him.  Their  exquisite  drawings,  in  which 
the  daintiness  of  everything  Japanese  charms  us  so 
much,  could  not  fail  to  please  a  draughtsman  who  was 
himself  so  delicate. 

But  Beardsley  is  never  caricatural  (as  are  his  German 
imitators).  His  charm  lies  precisely  in  the  fact  that  he  is 
excessive  and  true  at  the  same  time ;  he  rides  a  capricious 
steed  along  by  the  frontier  of  unreality,  but  never  crosses 
the  boundary. 

In  his  literary  experiments  Aubrey  Beardsley  showed 
the  same  curiously  artificial  imagination.  Writing  was  in 
his  eyes  an  intricate  game.  He  composed  sentences  that 
pleased  him  with  combinations  of  curiously  invented  words, 
and  then  proceeded  to  discover  how  best  he  could  fit 
them  into  a  scheme.  His  '  Under  the  Hill,'  an  unfinished 
adaptation  of  the  Tannhauser  legend,  is  a  commentary 
on  his  imagination.  Everything  is  artificial,  but  with  such 
detailed  artificiality.  The  book  opens  at  evening  :— 

'  It  was  taper-time ;  when  the  tired  earth  puts  on  its  cloak  of 

1  As  M.  Robert  de  la  Sizeranne  has  remarked,  Burne  Jones  always  exaggerates 
the  width  of  the  hips  in  his  women  and  diminishes  it  in  his  men,  and  always 
throws  all  the  weight  of  the  body  on  to  one  leg. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  PAINTING    279 

mists  and  shadows,  when  the  enchanted  woods  are  full  of  delicate 
influences,  and  even  the  beaux,  seated  at  their  dressing-tables, 
dream  a  little.' 

The  description  of  the  garden  is  as  complete  as  any  of 
his  drawings : — 

'  In  the  middle  was  a  huge  bronze  fountain  with  three  basins. 
From  the  first  rose  a  many-breasted  dragon  and  four  little  loves 
mounted  upon  swans,  and  each  love  was  furnished  with  a  bow  and 
arrow.  Two  of  them  that  faced  the  dragon  seemed  to  recoil  in 
fear,  two  that  were  behind  made  bold  enough  to  aim  their  shafts  at 
him.  From  the  verge  of  the  second  sprang  a  circle  of  slim  golden 
columns  that  supported  silver  doves  with  tails  and  wings  spread 
out.  The  third,  held  by  a  group  of  grotesquely  attenuated  satyrs, 
is  centred  with  a  thin  pipe  hung  with  masks  and  roses  and  capped 
with  children's  heads.' 

And  is  not  this  an  entirely  characteristic  description  of 
Fanfreluche's  appearance  : — 

1  He  wore  long  black  silk  stockings,  a  pair  of  pretty  garters,  a 
very  elegant  ruffled  shirt,  slippers,  and  a  wonderful  dressing-gown.' 

The  description  of  the  Woods  of  Auffray^  though  less 
sharply  defined,  is  even  more  atmospheric  : — 

'  In  the  distance  through  the  trees  gleamed  a  still  argent  lake,  a 
reticent  water  that  must  have  held  the  subtlest  fish  that  ever  were. 
Around  its  marge  the  trees  and  flags  and  fleurs  de  luce  were  un- 
breakably  asleep. 

*  I  fell  into  a  strange  mood  as  I  looked  at  the  lake,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  thing  would  speak,  reveal  some  curious  secret,  say 
some  beautiful  word  if  I  should  dare  to  wrinkle  its  pale  face  with  a 
pebble. 

'Then  the  lake  took  fantastic  shapes,  grew  to  twenty  times  its 
size,  or  shrank  into  a  miniature  of  itself  without  ever  closing  its 
unruffled  calm  and  deathly  reserve.  When  the  waters  increased  I 
was  very  frightened,  for  I  thought  how  huge  the  frogs  must  have 
become.  I  thought  of  their  big  eyes  and  monstrous  wet  feet ;  but 
when  the  water  lessened  I  laughed  to  myself,  for  I  thought  how  tiny 
the  frogs  must  have  grown ;  I  thought  of  their  legs  that  must  look 


28o       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

thinner  than  spiders ;  of  their  dwindled  croaking  that  never  could 
be  heard. 

'  Perhaps  the  lake  was  only  painted  after  all ;  I  had  seen  things  like 
it  at  the  theatre.  Anyhow  it  was  a  wonderful  lake,  a  beautiful  lake.' 

Though  so  often  macabre  (had  he  a  presentiment  of  his 
approaching  end?)  yet  he  has  the  sense  of  joy — a  joy 
which  is  cold  and  cunning.  For  him  who  has  eyes  to 
see,  his  illustrations  for  Oscar  Wilde's  Salome  are  its  most 
terrible  criticism.  While  Oscar  Wilde  meant  to  write  a 
poetical-religious-sensual  drama,  Aubrey  Beardsley  with 
the  thousand  arabesques  of  his  pen  illustrated  a  vicious 
comedy.  He  shows  us  a  sort  of  fairyland,  enigmatic,  as 
is  every  proper  fairyland,  and  it  is  so  interesting  that  we 
forget  the  subject  in  thinking  of  the  artist's  elaborations. 

He  could  be  mystic  too  (and  it  should  be  remembered 
that  he  died  a  good  Catholic),  as  in  his  Saint  Rosa  of 
Lima.  Had  he,  later,  thrown  himself  into  devotional  art, 
his  exquisite  talent  would  have  renewed  the  inspiration 
of  that  religious  art  which  Huysmans  so  happily  called 
'bondieusard.' 

There  is  nothing  Latin  nor  Italian  in  him,  but  a  good 
deal  of  eighteenth-century  France.  It  is  when  he  is 
drawing  frills  and  furbelows,  great  ladies'  paniers,  em- 
broidered corsages,  flowers  and  powder  puffs,  and  all  the 
thousand  tiny  details  that  contain  so  much  of  woman's 
personality  that  he  is  in  his  element. 

To  accuse  him  of  immorality  were  but  idleness  ;  for  he 
plays  with  the  surface  of  things.  We  have  the  impression 
of  a  cold  temperament  united  with  a  riotous  imagination. 

However  that  may  be,  Baudelaire  would  have  re- 
cognised a  descendant  in  this  sincere  artist  who  is  dis- 
satisfied with  the  world  and  with  life,  and  who  has  left 
us  a  picture  of  it  which,  though  it  be  at  certain  moments 
satanic,  with  hint  of  phosphorus  and  cantharides,  is  never 
gross,  never  coarse,  but  always  charming  and  truly 
artistic. 


PART    VI  I 


THE    BAUDELAIRIAN    SPIRIT 
IN    MUSIC 

THE  impotence  of  language  to  analyse  emotion  never 
comes  home  to  us  with  so  much  force  as  when  we  come 
to  consider  the  feelings  aroused  in  us  by  music.  Still  it 
has  appeared  to  us  interesting  to  see  if  we^can  discover  in 
music  any  trace  of  the  Baudelairian  spirit. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  modern  music  is  that 
our  age,  though  an  age  of  extremely  advanced  technical 
mastery,  is  not  an  age  of  deep  inspiration — and  it  is  the 
change  of  inspiration  that  marks  the  difference  between 
the  modern  and  classical  music. 

The  change  of  inspiration  may  be  conveniently  taken 
as  beginning  with  Wagner  (Wagner  being  the  great 
theoretician  —  and  leaving  aside  for  the  moment  the 
question  of  what  Wagner  owed  to  Weber).  It  was 
Wagner  who  first  so  definitely  proclaimed  the  importance 
of  the  universality  of  art,  declaring  that  since  painting, 
literature,  and  music  suggest  only  one  mode  of  life,  and 
that  life  is  the  union  of  these  three,  the  aim  of  the  artist 
now  should  be  to  show  this  union  in  his  art. 

As  he  says  in  his  letter  on  Music  :— 

'  I  recognised  that  it  was  just  where  one  of  these  arts  reached  its 
impassable  limits  that — with  most  rigorous  precision — the  sphere  of 
action  of  the  next  began,  and  that  consequently  with  the  intimate 
union  of  these  two  arts  one  would  express  with  the  most  satisfactory 
clearness  what  each  of  them  could  not  express  by  itself — and  that, 
on  the  contrary,  any  effort  to  render  by  means  of  one  of  them  that 
which  could  only  be  rendered  by  the  two  together  must  necessarily 
lead  to  obscurity — to  confusion  first,  and  then  to  the  degeneration 
and  corruption  of  each  art  in  particular.' 


284       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

As  Wagner  himself  pointed  out,  not  all  subjects  are 
open  to  this :  '  It  would  be  dangerous  to  transpose  a 
genre  picture  into  frescoe.' 

That  Wagner  succeeded  in  his  aim  is  proved  by  the 
fact  that  many  people  to  whom  music  in  the  ordinary 
way  makes  no  strong  appeal  are  attracted  by  Wagner, 
and  if  you  discuss  Wagner  with  such  people  you  will 
find  that  they  make  a  pictorial  interpretation  of  his 
music.  Wagner  himself  laid  stress  on  the  importance 
of  scenery  ;  his  view  is  that  of  Schiller,  '  Die  Musik  in 
hochste  Veredlung  muss  Gestalt  werden.'  We  do  not 
for  a  moment  mean  to  suggest  that  all  Wagnerites 
interpret  Wagner  in  this  way,  only  it  is  certain  that  a 
great  number  of  people  who  are  not  deep  musicians 
delight  in  Wagner's  music  and  interpret  it  into  '  clear 
outlines,'  *  running  streams,'  'green  peaceful  forests/ 
That  is  the  aim  of  Wagner's  music.  But  Wagner,  of 
course,  is  helped  by  the  story  —  he  weaves  his  music 
round  one  of  the  world's  greatest  legends,  and  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  our  knowledge  of  it  helps  him  to  produce 
the  desired  sensation.  The  question  is  rather  to  decide  to 
what  point  and  in  what  way  purely  instrumental  music 
realises  the  Baudelairian  ideal  of  suggestive  art  of 
sensation.  Baudelaire  himself  said  on  this  subject : — 

'  I  have  often  heard  it  said  that  music  could  not  boast  of 
translating  anything  whatsoever  with  the  same  certainty  as  words 
or  painting.  This  is  true  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  it  is  not  quite 
true.  It  translates  in  its  own  way  and  by  the  means  at  its  disposal. 
In  music,  as  in  painting  and  in  writing,  there  is  always  a  gap  filled 
in  by  the  imagination  of  the  hearer. 

1  The  really  surprising  thing  would  be  if  sound  could  not  suggest 
colour,  if  colour  could  not  give  an  idea  of  melody,  and  if  sound 
and  colour  were  unable  to  translate  ideas;  since  things  have  ex- 
pressed themselves  by  means  of  a  reciprocal  analogy  from  the  day 
on  which  God  pronounced  the  world  a  complex  indivisible  totality.' 

But  with  this  theory  the  hearer  is  left  more  or  less  free 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  MUSIC         285 

to  draw  what  interpretation  he  will  from  the  music  he 
hears — it  becomes  a  question  of  mood. 

But  the  *  Baudelairian '  composer  goes  further,  and 
translates  into  his  music  a  certain  idea,  and  that  idea  only. 

To  take  an  example  from  vocal  music,  from  perhaps 
the  most  perfect  collection  of  songs  ever  written  —  the 
1  Dichterliebe  '  of  Schumann.  We  have  only  to  think  of 
how  an  indifferent  singer  can  entirely  destroy  the  effect 
of  the  close  : — 

'  Da  hab'  ich  ihn  verstanden 
Mein  Sehnung  und  Verlangen — ' 

spite  of  Heine's  words,  and  then  turn  to  Strauss's  songs 
and  think  of  the  closing  effect  of  *  Morgen  ' : — 

*  Und  auf  uns  sinkt  des  Gluckes  stummes  Schweigen ' 

of  which — given  of  course  that  the  singer  consent  to 
follow  musical  direction,  and  does  not  sing  fortissimos 
where  the  composer  marks  pianissimos — the  effect  cannot 
be  destroyed,  will  always  suggest  ineffable  ecstasy.  Our 
object  was  in  no  way  to  prove  Strauss  a  greater  lied- 
writer  than  Schumann,  nor  even  to  compare  the  two,  but 
simply  to  point  out  that  into  the  modern  music  has  entered 
a  new  element — the  element  of  the  literary  idea.  And  if 
it  be  objected  that  songs  are  no  proof  on  account  of  the 
resource  they  gather  from  the  words — we  have  only  to 
think  of  Strauss's  instrumental  work  to  see  that  the  same 
holds  true. 

For  what  is  this  continual  series  of  '  symphonic  poems  ' 
but  the  effort  to  produce  a  literary  sensation  through 
music?  We  have  only  to  think  of  the  titles.  In  the  old 
days  the  composer  came  forward  and  gave  you  a 
symphony  in  A  or  a  suite  in  G,  now  we  are  given  a 
*  Heldenleben,'  or  an  'Also  sprach  Zarathustra,'  and  a 
humorously  charming  '  Till  Eulenspiegel ' ; — inspiration 
has  become  artificial.  In  the  same  way,  the  Wagnerian 
use  of  motives  is  another  method  of  personifying  the  idea. 


286       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Strauss,  of  course,  has  carried  on  this  device,  though  not 
so  plainly  in  '  Elektra,'  yet  very  definitely  in  '  Salome.' 

Debussy  does  not  make  this  use  of  motives,  and 
thus  his  music  is  more  purely  '  Baudelairian ' — in  that 
it  is  more  purely  sensational.  Strauss's  music,  too,  is 
sensational,  but  in  a  different  way.  He  produces  his 
sensational  effects  through  the  tension  to  which  he  has 
screwed  up  our  nerves.  *  Elektra,'  with  the  exception  of 
the  beautiful  meeting  of  Orestes  and  Elektra,  is  merely 
the  impression  of  terror  from  beginning  to  end,  and  the 
nervous  strain  of  following  it  grows  greater,  and  not  less, 
as  we  hear  it  more  often.1 

The  Baudelairian  aim  at  ' astonishing,'  which  un- 
doubtedly does  play  its  part  in  Strauss's  advanced 
orchestration,  is  here  allowed  free  play.  Mr.  Machen, 
speaking  on  a  different  subject,  well  pointed  out  that 
production  of  sensation  is  not  necessarily  art,  and  takes 
the  case  of  a  woman  receiving  a  telegram  telling  her  her 
husband  has  been  killed  in  a  railway  accident ;  she 
experiences  a  sensation,  an  emotion  of  the  strongest 
order,  but  the  telegram  is  not  art.  The  same  could  be 
applied  within  limits  to  some  of  Strauss's  compositions. 
The  sensation  of  Debussy,  on  the  other  hand,  is  of  a 
different  type — far  gentler,  far  more  impressionist.  Like 
Strauss  he  yields  from  time  to  time  to  pure  desire  to 
astonish,  and  writes  series  of  discords  which  produce  a 
strong  protesting  thrill  from  our  nerves. 

There  is  no  music  which  is  so  difficult  to  analyse  in 
words  as  Debussy's.  It  is  all  atmosphere — mysterious, 
elusive,  and  to  the  highest  point  impressionist.  This 
is  partially  explicable  by  his  use  of  the  open  scale, 
and  in  his  vocal  work  by  his  suppression  of  voice. 
The  older  lied-writers  write  for  the  voice,  aiming  at 

1  Cf.  Nietzsche's  reproach  to  Wagner  that  he  has  made  music  morbid,  and 
again,  'he  has  divined  in  music  the  expedient  for  exciting  fatigued  nerves,' — 
which  is  certainly  what  Strauss  does. 


BAUDELAIRIAN  SPIRIT  IN  MUSIC        287 

giving  the  voice  scope  for  showing  its  beauty.  Debussy 
and  his  school  keep  the  voice  at  a  pianissimo,  and  aim 
only  at  making  it  render  the  effect  of  their  idea.  And  the 
sensation  produced,  the  form  of  enjoyment,  is  literary. 
The  '  Flute  de  Pan,'  for  example,  from  the  very  opening 
transports  us  into  another  world — a  Pan-ic  world  ;  it  is 
a  shrill  scale  on  Pan's  pipe,  and  we  are  made  to  think 
of  satyrs  and  fauns,  and  the  legends  we  know  of  them. 
It  is  this  quality  which  enabled  Debussy  to  give  his 
perfect  translation  of  '  L'Apres-midi  d'un  Faune.'  There 
is  nothing  contemplative  in  our  state  of  mind  then,  or 
very  little  ;  it  is  pathological  only. 

There  is  no  great  feeling  in  such  music,  nor  can  we 
transport  our  deep  feelings  into  it — in  this  way  it  is 
the  most  entirely  removed  from  didacticism  (if  such 
expression  be  not  too  far-fetched),  and  therein  again 
Baudelairian. 

Again,  what  is  this  taste  of  modern  composers  for 
continual  change  of  time  signature  but  the  musical 
translation  of  what  the  advanced  *  vers  libristes '  did  for 
poetry,  the  same  breaking  up  of  traditional  measures  ? 

Debussy  himself  says  that  it  is  well  for  the  composer 
to  be  entirely  detached  from  his  age — he  has  the  Baude- 
lairian fear  of  nature  as  a  disturbing  element.  Cesar 
Franck,  too,  believed  in  this  theory  of  detachment,  and 
carried  his  theory  into  effect ;  yet  side  by  side  with  the 
detached  purity  of  his  religious  music  exists  his  '  Sonata 
for  Violin  and  Piano ' — the  greatest  passionate  cry  of 
modern  music.  But  Debussy  carries  his  art-for-art  theory 
to  the  point  of  banishing  passion.  Hence  the  coldness 
of  his  music,  the  continual  impression  of  artificiality — 
neither  of  which  qualities  make  for  durability. 


288       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


CONCLUSION1 

THERE  is  no  more  well-worn  commonplace  than  the 
reproach  made  to  Baudelaire  and  his  school  of  lacking 
sincerity.  By  that  is  meant  doubtless  that  the  Baude- 
lairians  with  their  desire  to  epater  le  bourgeois  merely 
aimed  at  having  thoughts  different  from  those  of  the 
common  ruck. 

'II  nous  faut  du  nouveau,  n'en  fut-il  plus  au  monde,' 
such  is  the  motto  of  their  school ;  and  if  the  reader  be 
scandalised,  so  much  the  better  ! 

The  best  answer  to  such  criticism  is  to  be  found, 
curiously  enough,  in  Mr.  A.  J.  Balfour's  remarkable 
Foundations  of  Belief.  The  shades  of  the  Baudelairians 
may  well  rejoice  in  such  an  advocate. 

In  the  chapter  on  <  Naturalism  and  ^Esthetic,'  Mr. 
Balfour  writes  : — 

'In  music,  the  artist's  desire  for  originality  of  expression  has 
been  aided  generation  after  generation  by  the  discovery  of  new 
methods,  new  forms,  new  instruments.  From  the  bare  simplicity 
of  the  ecclesiastical  chant  or  the  village  dance  to  the  ordered 
complexity  of  the  modern  score,  the  art  has  passed  through 
successive  stages  of  development,  in  each  genius  has  discovered 
devices  of  harmony,  devices  of  instrumentation,  and  devices  of 
rhythm  which  would  have  been  musical  paradoxes  to  preceding 
generations  and  became  musical  commonplaces  to  the  generations 
that  followed  after.' 

Apply  this  statement  not  only  to  music,  but  to  all  the 

1  In  the  Eye-Witness  of  June  27,  1912,  appeared  a  remarkable  article  by 
J.  C.  Squire,  entitled  'A  Dead  Man,'  to  which  we  take  the  liberty  of  referring 
the  reader.  Therein  he  will  see  again  the  permanent  influence  of  Baudelaire, 
which  it  was  the  aim  of  this  book  to  prove. 


CONCLUSION  289 

arts,  and  you  have  the  explanation  of  the  fact  that  that 
which  is  a  mere  commonplace  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  on 
your  right,  is  a  *  joy  for  ever '  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  on 
your  left. 

Our  senses  are,  of  course,  infinitely  subtilised  by  use — 
the  eyes  and  ears  of  the  mature  man  who  has  read  and 
thought  are  quite  different  from  what  they  were  in  his 
youth.  And  as  they  become  more  subtle,  they  grow 
proportionately  more  exacting. 

Ever  since  the  time  of  Zeuxis,  painting  has  discovered 
new  manners  of  representing  the  universe,  each  manner 
more  intense  with  the  succeeding  centuries.  Titian's 
colour,  which  would  have  dazzled  Parrhasius,  is  already 
sombre  in  our  eyes. 

In  the  same  way,  ever  since  the  time  of  the  Assyrian 
potter  man  has  sought  to  paint  in  words  Nature's  infinite 
diversity.  What  we  call  '  impressionism '  in  art  is 
nothing  but  the  very  natural  desire  to  make  the  life-blood 
of  things  course  through  the  fibres  of  the  paper  under  the 
printed  page. 

It  is  possible,  as  Mr.  Balfour  says,  that  'this  amazing 
musical  development  has  added  little  to  the  felicity  of 
mankind.5  But  what  recked  Baudelaire  of  benefits  to  the 
human  race?  His  business  was  with  Art.  In  his  eyes — 
as  in  ours — the  sacred  character  of  a  work  of  art  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  represents  (or  better  still  suggests)  the 
prodigious  efforts  of  human  genius  lying  behind  it. 

In  all  ages,  in  all  countries,  the  immutable  light  of 
Beauty  has  appeared  to  the  artist ;  every  age  contributes 
to  the  widening  of  the  furtive  fugitive  rays  from  the 
matchless  vision. 

As  M.  Bergson  has  so  well  observed,  there  is  between 
ourselves  and  nature,  nay,  between  ourselves  and  our  own 
consciousness,  a  veil.  With  the  ordinary  man  it  is  dense, 
impenetrable  almost,  but  with  the  poet  wellnigh  trans- 
parent. 

T 


290       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

Art,  then,  should  aim  first  of  all  at  soaking  off  the  labels 
that  long  habit  has  imposed  on  things,  should  set  aside  all 
commonplace  and  well-worn  generalities,  in  order  to  show 
us  things  as  they  are,  to  reveal  nature  to  us. 

Let  us  then  be  grateful  to  Baudelaire  and  the  line  of  his 
great  followers,  since  they  have  been  able  to  suggest  to  us 
new  combinations  of  words,  colours,  and  sounds  such  as 
literature,  painting  and  music  were  incapable  of  expressing 
before  them. 


BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE 


291 


BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE1 


ASSELINEAU,  CHARLES. 


BARBEY  D'AUREVILLY. 
BLOY,  L£ON. 

BOURGET,  PAUL. 


BRUNETIERE,  F. 
CHARBONNEL,  VICTOR. 

FAGUET,  EMILE. 
FRANCE,  ANATOLE. 
GOSSE. 

LEMA!TRE,  JULES. 

LlONNET,  J. 

MALLARME,  STEPHANE. 
MORICE,  CHARLES. 


GENERAL 

Bibliog.     romantique.     (A.    de    Vigny, 

Gautier,  Borel,  Bertrand,   etc.)    1811- 

72. 

Les  ceuvres  et  les  hommes.     1860-95. 
Les  dernieres  colonnes  de  1'eglise,  1903. 

1860-95.     Fifteen  vols. 
Essais   de  psychol.   contemporaine.     4e 

Edition.     1885.     Nouveaux  Essais  de 

psychol.  contemporaine.     1886. 
Nouveaux  essais  de    critique  litteraiie. 

1895. 
Les   mystiques    dans    la    litt.   presente. 

1897. 

Etudes  litteraires  du  19*  siecle.     1887. 
La  Vie  Litteraire.     Three  vols.,  1891. 
English   Literature    in    the   Nineteenth 

Century.     1901. 
Questions  at  issue.     1893. 
Les     Contemporains.     1886-99.     Seven 

vols.  . 
L'Evolution  des  idees  chez  quelques-uns 

de  nos  contemporains.     1904. 
Les  Miens.     1892. 
La  Litterature  de  tout  a  1'heure.     1889. 


1  This  list  only  aims  at  mentioning  those  works  which  were  of  most  use  to  us. 
A  comprehensive  bibliography  of  this  subject  would  require  a  volume  to  itself. 
The  best  books  to  read  are  those  of  the  authors  themselves ;  in  these  days  of 
cheap  reprints  these  masterpieces  are  within  the  reach  of  all. 


292       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 

1897. 


PACHEN,  JULES. 
RODENBACH,  GEORGES. 
SAINTSBURY. 
SYMONS,  ARTHUR, 

TAINE,  HIPPOLYTE. 
WYZEWA,  TH.  DE. 


De  Dante  a  Verlaine. 

L'Elite.     1899. 

History  of  Criticism.     Vol.  iii.     1904. 

Symbolist      Movement     in     Literature. 

2nd  ed.     1908. 

Essais  de  critique  et  d'histoire.     1858. 
Nos  Maitres.     1895. 


Reference  has  also  been  made  to  the  obituary  notices  in  the 
Journal  des  Dlbats^  the  Figaro,  and  the  Temps,  and  the  valuable 
bibliographies  of  Thieme. 


CR£PET,  EUGENE. 


SECHE  ET  BERTAUT. 

INGRAM,  JOHN  H. 
LAUVRIERE,  EMILE. 

PROBST,  FERDINAND. 
COBB,  PALMER. 

RANSOME,  ARTHUR. 

CHAMPFLEURY. 
FRANCE,  ANATOLE. 


BAUDELAIRE 

Souvenirs,      correspondances,      bibliog. 

suivie  de  pieces  inedits,  ed.   Charles 

C.     1872. 
Charles  Baudelaire,  e*tude  biographique, 

suivie  des  Baudelairana  d'Asselineau. 

1906. 
Charles  Baudelaire.     1909. 

POE 

E.  A.  Poe,  his  Life,  Letters  and  Opinions. 

1880. 
Edgar  Poe,  sa  vie  et  ses  ceuvres :  etude 

de      psychol.      pathologique.       1904. 

(Bibliog.,  pp.  721-30.) 
E.   A.    Poe.     1908.     (Grenzfragen    der 

Literatur  und  Medizin,  Hft.  8.) 
Influence  of  T.  A.  Hoffmann  on  the  Tales 

of  Poe.     (Study  in  Philol,  Univ.  of 

N.  Carolina,  iii.).     1908. 
Edgar  Poe.     1910. 

SAINTE-BEUVE 

Un  coin  de  litt.  sous  le  Second  Empire. 

1908. 

Notice  pref.  to  Poesies  Completes  de 
Sainte-Beuve.  Two  vols.,  1879. 
(Part  of  Petite  Bibl.  litt.) 


BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE  293 

HARPER,  G.  M.  C.  A.  Sainte-Beuve.     (French  Men  of 

Letters.)     1909.. 
TURQUET,  A.  Pref.  to  Profils  Anglais.     (Les  Classiques 

Francois.)     1908. 

BERTRAND 

ASSELINEAU.  Bibliog.  Romantique,  pp.  75-87. 

CHABEUF,  HENRI.  L.  Bertrand  et  le  Romantisme  a  Dijon. 

(Memoires  de  PAcad.  des  sciences, 
arts,  et  belles  lettres  de  Dijon,  4  se'r., 
T.  i.)  Dijon.  1889. 

PETRUS   BOREL 
CLARETIE,  J.  Petrus  Borel,  sa  vie,  ses  ecrits,  poe'sies 

et  documents  inedits.     1865. 
Pref.    to    Madame     Putiphar,     1877-8. 
Two  vols. 

THEOPHILE   GAUTIER 

MAXIME  DU  CAMP.  T.   Gautier.     1890.     (Les    grands   ecri- 

vains  franc.ais.) 
SPOELBERCH  DE  LOVEN-     Histoire    des    ceuvres    de    T.    Gautier. 

JOUL.  1887. 

TOURNEUX,  MAURICE.       Th.  Gautier.     1876.     Bibliographic. 

VILLIERS   DE   L'ISLE   ADAM 

DE  ROUGEMONT,  E.  V.    de    1'Isle    Adam.     1910.     Bibliog., 

pp.  364-92. 

BARBEY   D'AUREVILLY 

GRELE,  EUGENE.  Barbey  d'Aurevilly,  sa  vie  et  son  ceuvre, 

d'apres  sa  correspondance  inedite. 
1902.  Two  vols. 

BUET,  CHARLES.  Medallions  et  camees.     1885. 

VERLAINE 
LEPELLETIER,  E.  Paul  Verlaine,  sa  vie,  son  oeuvre,  etc. 

1907.     (English  translation,  1909.) 

S£CH£  ET  BERTAUT.  Paul  Verlaine  (Vie  anecdotique  et  pit- 

toresque  des  grands  ecrivains). 


294       THE  INFLUENCE  OF  BAUDELAIRE 


cf.  VERLAINE. 


TRISTAN   CORBlfcRE 
Les  Poetes  Maudits. 


D'HENNEZEL,  HENRI. 


cf.  also  BLOY  LEON. 


Cf.  PONTMARTIN,  A.  DE. 

BARBEY  D'AUREVILLY. 
BUET,  CHARLES. 


cf.  DOUMIC,  RENE". 
BRISSON,  A. 
GREGH,  F. 


MALLARME. 
cf.  VERLAINE. 
GOSSE. 


BOCQUET,  LE"ON. 
MAUCLAIR,  CAMILLE. 

WOODBERRY,  G.  E. 

WRATISLAW,  T. 


HUYSMANS 

Pref.  to  Pensees  et  Prieres  catholiques 

de  J.  K.  Huysmans.  1910. 
Dernieres  colonnes  de  FEglise. 
L'Evolution  des  idees  chez  quelques-uns 

de  nos  contemporains. 

ROLLINAT 

Souvenirs  d'un  vieux  critique.     1884. 
Les  oeuvres.     1890. 
Medaillons  et  Camees.     1885. 

RODENBACH 

Les  jeunes.     1896. 
La  comedie  litt.     1895. 
La  fenetre  ouverte,     1902. 

MALLARMti 

Divagations.     1897. 
Poetes  Maudits. 
Questions  at  issue. 

SAMAIN 
Albert  Samain.     1905. 

LAFORGUE 

Jules  Laforgue.     1896. 

SWINBURNE 

Swinburne.     1905.     (Contemp.  Men  of 

Letters  ser.) 
A.     C.      Swinburne.      1899.      (English 

Writers  of  To-day.) 


BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE 


295 


O'SHAUGHNESSY 

MOULTON,  L.  C.  Arthur  O'Shaughnessy's  Life  and  Work. 

1894. 

WILDE 

BLEI,  F.  In  Memoriam  Oscar  Wilde.     1905. 

HAGEMANN,  C.  Oscar  Wilde  (Stud,  zur  mod.  welt.  lit). 

1904. 

SHERARD,  R.  H.  Oscar  Wilde. 

WEISZ,  E.  Psychologische    Streifziige    iiber    Oscar 

Wilde.     1908. 


PAINTING 

Reflexions  critiques  sur  la  poesie  et  la 

peinture.     1719. 
L'Art  du  dix-huitieme  siecle.    Two  vols., 

1875- 
Eugene  Delacroix  (Masterpieces  in  colour 

sen). 

PATTISON,  EMMA  F.  S.       French     Painters     of    the     Eighteenth 
(afterwards  LADY  DILKE).      Century.     1899. 


Du  Bos. 

GONCOURT,  E.  DE. 
KONODY,  PAUL. 


INDEX 


u 


INDEX 


ASSELINEAU,  CHARLES,  271. 
Audoux,  Marguerite,  12. 

BARBEYD'AUREVILLY,II,  101, 135-45. 
Beardsley,  Aubrey,  221,  277-80. 
Bertrand,  Aloysius,  80-101. 
Benson,  R.  H.,  249. 
Borel,  Petrus,  102-15. 
Boucher,  265. 

Bourget,  Paul,  4,  5,  16,  145. 
Browning,  E.  B.,  264. 
Browning,  Robert,  58,  95. 
Brunetiere,  Ferdinand,  16,  173-4. 
Burns,  Robert,  101. 
Burne-Jones,  275. 

CAZALIS,  HENRI,  60. 
Charcot,  Dr.,  60. 
Chateaubriand,  Rene  de,  173. 
Cladel,  Leon,  212. 
Claretie,  Jules,  102. 
Constant,  Benjamin,  4-9. 
Corbiere,  Tristan,  160-4. 
Courbet,  274. 
Coypel,  263. 
Cros,  Charles,  164. 

DARWIN,  15. 

David,  Louis,  263. 

David  d'Angers,  86,  88. 

Debussy,  286-7. 

Degas,  276. 

Delacroix,  116,  266-73. 

Dijon,  81. 

Douglas,  Lord  Alfred,  258-9. 

Douglas,  James,  224,  225. 

Duval,  Jeanne,  24,  28. 

EMERSON,  274. 


FRANCE,  ANATOLE,  113,  143. 
Fragonard,  265. 
Forain,  276. 

GAUTIER,  THEOPHILE,  25,  43,  102, 

114,  116-20,  222. 
Gissing,  George,  136. 
Goya,  65. 

HAUPTMANN,  GERHARD,  194. 
Hebbel,  Friedrich,  194. 
Hoffmann,  101. 
Hugo,  Victor,  86,  91,  222. 
Huysmans,  J.  K.,  165-75,  195,  274. 

JANET,  PIERRE,  60. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  94. 

KEATS,  238. 

LACORDAIRE,  15. 

Laforgue,  161,  164,  206-12,  248. 

Labor,  see  Cazalis. 

Lancret,  203. 

Lamartine,  15. 

Lamenais,  15. 

Lang,  Andrew,  72. 

Lauvriere,  Emile,  69. 

Lemaitre,  Jules,  22,  60,  170. 

Lewis,  Monk,  63. 

Lucretius,  8. 

MACHEN,  ARTHUR,  219,  249,  250-3. 
Maeterlinck,  213. 
Maistre,  Joseph  de,  15. 
Mallarme',  194-9,  22°- 
Manet,  65. 

Maupassant,  Guy  de,  37. 
Merrill,  Stuart,  214-15. 

209 


INDEX 


Michelet,  Jules,  93. 
Middleton,  Richard,  259-61. 
Moore,  George,  253-8. 
Moreas,  Jean,  158,  245. 
Morice,  Charles,  155. 
Morris,  William,  239. 

NERVAL,  GERARD  DE,  178. 
Nietzsche,  44. 
Nodier,  Charles,  86. 

O'SHAUGHNESSY,  ARTHUR,  221,230-6. 

PATMORE,  COVENTRY,  204. 

Pavie,  Victor,  82,  86,  89. 

Peladan,  II. 

Provost,  L'Abb£,  4. 

Poe,  Edgar,  33,  34,  44,  54,  63,  72. 

Poussin,  Nicolas,  266. 

Puvis  de  Chavannes,  276. 

RADCLIFFE,  MRS.,  63. 
Redon,  Odilon,  276. 
Rimbaud,  Arthur,  12,  147. 
Rivarol,  134. 
Rochefoucauld,  La,  7. 
Rodenbach,  Georges,  71,  184-93. 
Rollinat,  Maurice,  176-83. 
Rops,  Felicien,  276. 
Rossetti,  D.  G.,  8,  238. 
Russell,  G.  (A.  E.),  249. 

SABATIER,  MADAME,  27-8. 
Samain,  Albert,  158,  200-5. 


Sainte-Beuve,  9-14,  22,  41,  73-9,  82, 

84,  101,  132. 
Scott,  Walter,  85. 
Shelley,  220. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  6. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  244. 
Stendhal,  n,  219. 
Strauss,  Richard,  285-6. 
Swinburne,  221,  222-9. 
Symons,  Arthur,  165,  244,  249-50. 
Synge,  J.  M.,  249. 

TOLSTOY,  7. 
Treznik,  Leo,  161. 
Turner,  244. 

VAN  Loo,  265. 

Verhaeren,  212-13. 

Verlaine,  146-59,  161,  209,  237,  248. 

Vigny,  Alfred  de,  14-17. 

Villiers  de  1'Isle  Adam,  n,  68,  123-34, 

169,  209,  213,  220. 
Villon,  149. 
Voltaire,  4. 

WAGNER,  RICHARD,  130,  283-4. 

Watts,  G.  F.,  266. 

Watteau,  21,  22. 

Whistler,  T.  A.  M.,  48-9,  244. 

Wilde,  Oscar,  221,  237-48. 

YEATS,  257. 

ZOLA,  EMILE,  13,  30,  34. 


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The  influence  of  Baudela-.  • 
ire  in  France  and  England. 
London,  Constable,  1913