Huysmans
at first
modelled himself upon Baudelaire.
modelled himself upon Baudelaire.
Baudelaire - Poems and Prose Poems
Baudelaire's little attack of the equality-measles soon vanished.
He lectured his brother poets and artists on the folly and injustice of
abusing or despising the bourgeois (being a man of paradox, he dedicated
a volume of his Salons to the bourgeois), but he would not have
contradicted Mr. George Moore for declaring that "in art the democrat
is always reactionary. In 1830 the democrats were against Victor Hugo
and Delacrois. " And Les Fleurs du Mal, that book of opals, blood, and
evil swamp-flowers, will never be savoured by the mob.
In his Souvenirs de Jeunesse, Champfleury speaks of the promenades in
the Louvre he enjoyed the company with Baudelaire. Bronzino was one of
the poet's preferences. He was also attracted by El Greco--not an
unnatural admiration, considering the sombre extravagance of his own
genius. Of Goya he has written in exalted phrases. Velasquez was his
touchstone. Being of a perverse nature, his Derves ruined by abuse of
drink and drugs, the landscapes of his imagination were more beautiful
than Nature herself. The country itself, he declared, was odious. Like
Whistler, whom he often met--see the Hommage a Delacrois by
Fantin-Latour, with its portraits of Whistler, Baudelaire, Manet,
Bracquemond the etcher, Legros, Delacrois, Cordier, Duranty the critic,
and De Balleroy--he could not help showing his aversion to "foolish
sunsets. " In a word, Baudelaire, into whose brain had entered too much
moonlight, was the father of a lunar school of poetry, criticism and
fiction. His Samuel Cramer, in La Fanfarlo, is the literary progenitor
of Jean, Duc d'Esseintes, in Huysmans's _A Rebours_.
Huysmans at first
modelled himself upon Baudelaire. His Le Drageoir aux Epices is a
continuation of Petits Poemes en Prose. And to Baudelaire's account must
be laid much artificial morbid writing. Despite his pursuit of
perfection in form, his influence has been too often baneful to
impressionable artists in embryo. A lover of Gallic Byronism, and
high-priest of the Satanic school, there was no extravagance, absurd or
terrible, that he did not commit, from etching a four-part fugue on ice
to skating hymns in honour of Lucifer. In his criticism alone was he the
sane logical Frenchman. And while he did not live to see the success of
the Impressionist group, he surely would have acclaimed their theory and
practice. Was he not an impressionist himself?
As Richard Wagner was his god in music, so Delacroix quite overflowed
his aesthetic consciousness. Read Volume II of his collected works,
_Curiosites Esthetiques_, which contains his Salons; also his essay, _De
l'Essence du Rire_ (worthy to be placed side by side with George
Meredith's essay on Comedy). Caricaturists, French and foreign, are
considered in two chapters at the close of the volume. Baudelaire was as
conscientious as Gautier. He trotted around miles of mediocre canvas,
saying an encouraging word to the less talented, boiling over with holy
indignation or indulging in glacial irony, before the rash usurpers
occupying the seats of the mighty, and pouncing on new genius with
promptitude. Upon Delacroix he lavished the largesse of his admiration.
He smiled at the platitudes of Horace Vernet, and only shook his head
over the Schnetzes and other artisans of the day. He welcomed William
Hausollier, now so little known.
He lectured his brother poets and artists on the folly and injustice of
abusing or despising the bourgeois (being a man of paradox, he dedicated
a volume of his Salons to the bourgeois), but he would not have
contradicted Mr. George Moore for declaring that "in art the democrat
is always reactionary. In 1830 the democrats were against Victor Hugo
and Delacrois. " And Les Fleurs du Mal, that book of opals, blood, and
evil swamp-flowers, will never be savoured by the mob.
In his Souvenirs de Jeunesse, Champfleury speaks of the promenades in
the Louvre he enjoyed the company with Baudelaire. Bronzino was one of
the poet's preferences. He was also attracted by El Greco--not an
unnatural admiration, considering the sombre extravagance of his own
genius. Of Goya he has written in exalted phrases. Velasquez was his
touchstone. Being of a perverse nature, his Derves ruined by abuse of
drink and drugs, the landscapes of his imagination were more beautiful
than Nature herself. The country itself, he declared, was odious. Like
Whistler, whom he often met--see the Hommage a Delacrois by
Fantin-Latour, with its portraits of Whistler, Baudelaire, Manet,
Bracquemond the etcher, Legros, Delacrois, Cordier, Duranty the critic,
and De Balleroy--he could not help showing his aversion to "foolish
sunsets. " In a word, Baudelaire, into whose brain had entered too much
moonlight, was the father of a lunar school of poetry, criticism and
fiction. His Samuel Cramer, in La Fanfarlo, is the literary progenitor
of Jean, Duc d'Esseintes, in Huysmans's _A Rebours_.
Huysmans at first
modelled himself upon Baudelaire. His Le Drageoir aux Epices is a
continuation of Petits Poemes en Prose. And to Baudelaire's account must
be laid much artificial morbid writing. Despite his pursuit of
perfection in form, his influence has been too often baneful to
impressionable artists in embryo. A lover of Gallic Byronism, and
high-priest of the Satanic school, there was no extravagance, absurd or
terrible, that he did not commit, from etching a four-part fugue on ice
to skating hymns in honour of Lucifer. In his criticism alone was he the
sane logical Frenchman. And while he did not live to see the success of
the Impressionist group, he surely would have acclaimed their theory and
practice. Was he not an impressionist himself?
As Richard Wagner was his god in music, so Delacroix quite overflowed
his aesthetic consciousness. Read Volume II of his collected works,
_Curiosites Esthetiques_, which contains his Salons; also his essay, _De
l'Essence du Rire_ (worthy to be placed side by side with George
Meredith's essay on Comedy). Caricaturists, French and foreign, are
considered in two chapters at the close of the volume. Baudelaire was as
conscientious as Gautier. He trotted around miles of mediocre canvas,
saying an encouraging word to the less talented, boiling over with holy
indignation or indulging in glacial irony, before the rash usurpers
occupying the seats of the mighty, and pouncing on new genius with
promptitude. Upon Delacroix he lavished the largesse of his admiration.
He smiled at the platitudes of Horace Vernet, and only shook his head
over the Schnetzes and other artisans of the day. He welcomed William
Hausollier, now so little known.
