He has demonstrated that no man could have lived so
long--De Quincey was nearly seventy-five at his death--and worked so
hard, if he had consumed twelve thousand drops of laudanum as often as
he said he did.
long--De Quincey was nearly seventy-five at his death--and worked so
hard, if he had consumed twelve thousand drops of laudanum as often as
he said he did.
Baudelaire - Poems and Prose Poems
org (From images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.
THE POEMS AND PROSE POEMS
OF
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE BY
JAMES HUNEKER
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
PUBLISHERS
1919
CONTENTS.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by James Huneker
THE FLOWERS OF EVIL
The Dance of Death
The Beacons
The Sadness of the Moon
Exotic Perfume
Beauty
The Balcony
The Sick Muse
The Venal Muse
The Evil Monk
The Temptation
The Irreparable
A Former Life
Don Juan in Hades
The Living Flame
Correspondences
The Flask
Reversibility
The Eyes of Beauty
Sonnet of Autumn
The Remorse of the Dead
The Ghost
To a Madonna
The Sky
Spleen
The Owls
Bien Loin d'Ici
Music
Contemplation
To a Brown Beggar-maid
The Swan
The Seven Old Men
The Little Old Women
A Madrigal of Sorrow
The Ideal
Mist and Rain
Sunset
The Corpse
An Allegory
The Accursed
La Beatrice
The Soul of Wine
The Wine of Lovers
The Death of Lovers
The Death of the Poor
The Benediction
Gypsies Travelling
Francisco Meae Laudes
Robed in a Silken Robe
A Landscape
The Voyage
LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE
The Stranger
Every Man his Chimaera
Venus and the Fool
Intoxication
The Gifts of the Moon
The Invitation to the Voyage
What is Truth?
Already!
The Double Chamber
At One o'Clock in the Morning
The Confiteor of the Artist
The Thyrsus
The Marksman
The Shooting-range and the Cemetery
The Desire to Paint
The Glass-vendor
The Widows
The Temptations; or, Eros, Plutus, and Glory
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.
BY JAMES HUNEKER.
I
For the sentimental no greater foe exists than the iconoclast who
dissipates literary legends. And he is abroad nowadays. Those golden
times when they gossiped of De Quincey's enormous opium consumption, of
the gin absorbed by gentle Charles Lamb, of Coleridge's dark ways,
Byron's escapades, and Shelley's atheism--alas! into what faded limbo
have they vanished. Poe, too, whom we saw in fancy reeling from Richmond
to Baltimore, Baltimore to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to New York. Those
familiar fascinating anecdotes have gone the way of all such jerry-built
spooks. We now know Poe to have been a man suffering at the time of his
death from cerebral lesion, a man who drank at intervals and little. Dr.
Guerrier of Paris has exploded a darling superstition about De Quincey's
opium-eating.
He has demonstrated that no man could have lived so
long--De Quincey was nearly seventy-five at his death--and worked so
hard, if he had consumed twelve thousand drops of laudanum as often as
he said he did. Furthermore, the English essayist's description of the
drug's effects is inexact. He was seldom sleepy--a sure sign, asserts
Dr. Guerrier, that he was not altogether enslaved by the drug habit.
Sprightly in old age, his powers of labour were prolonged until past
three-score and ten. His imagination needed little opium to produce the
famous Confessions. Even Gautier's revolutionary red waistcoat worn at
the premiere of Hernani was, according to Gautier, a pink doublet. And
Rousseau has been whitewashed. So they are disappearing, those literary
legends, until, disheartened, we cry out: Spare us our dear,
old-fashioned, disreputable men of genius!
But the legend of Charles Baudelaire is seemingly indestructible. This
French poet has suffered more from the friendly malignant biographer and
chroniclers than did Poe. Who shall keep the curs out of the cemetery?
asked Baudelaire after he had read Griswold on Poe. A few years later
his own cemetery was invaded and the world was put into possession of
the Baudelaire legend; that legend of the atrabilious, irritable poet,
dandy, maniac, his hair dyed green, spouting blasphemies; that grim,
despairing image of a diabolic, a libertine, saint, and drunkard. Maxime
du Camp was much to blame for the promulgation of these tales--witness
his Souvenirs litteraires. However, it may be confessed that part of the
Baudelaire legend was created by Charles Baudelaire.
available by the Internet Archive.
THE POEMS AND PROSE POEMS
OF
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE BY
JAMES HUNEKER
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
PUBLISHERS
1919
CONTENTS.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by James Huneker
THE FLOWERS OF EVIL
The Dance of Death
The Beacons
The Sadness of the Moon
Exotic Perfume
Beauty
The Balcony
The Sick Muse
The Venal Muse
The Evil Monk
The Temptation
The Irreparable
A Former Life
Don Juan in Hades
The Living Flame
Correspondences
The Flask
Reversibility
The Eyes of Beauty
Sonnet of Autumn
The Remorse of the Dead
The Ghost
To a Madonna
The Sky
Spleen
The Owls
Bien Loin d'Ici
Music
Contemplation
To a Brown Beggar-maid
The Swan
The Seven Old Men
The Little Old Women
A Madrigal of Sorrow
The Ideal
Mist and Rain
Sunset
The Corpse
An Allegory
The Accursed
La Beatrice
The Soul of Wine
The Wine of Lovers
The Death of Lovers
The Death of the Poor
The Benediction
Gypsies Travelling
Francisco Meae Laudes
Robed in a Silken Robe
A Landscape
The Voyage
LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE
The Stranger
Every Man his Chimaera
Venus and the Fool
Intoxication
The Gifts of the Moon
The Invitation to the Voyage
What is Truth?
Already!
The Double Chamber
At One o'Clock in the Morning
The Confiteor of the Artist
The Thyrsus
The Marksman
The Shooting-range and the Cemetery
The Desire to Paint
The Glass-vendor
The Widows
The Temptations; or, Eros, Plutus, and Glory
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.
BY JAMES HUNEKER.
I
For the sentimental no greater foe exists than the iconoclast who
dissipates literary legends. And he is abroad nowadays. Those golden
times when they gossiped of De Quincey's enormous opium consumption, of
the gin absorbed by gentle Charles Lamb, of Coleridge's dark ways,
Byron's escapades, and Shelley's atheism--alas! into what faded limbo
have they vanished. Poe, too, whom we saw in fancy reeling from Richmond
to Baltimore, Baltimore to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to New York. Those
familiar fascinating anecdotes have gone the way of all such jerry-built
spooks. We now know Poe to have been a man suffering at the time of his
death from cerebral lesion, a man who drank at intervals and little. Dr.
Guerrier of Paris has exploded a darling superstition about De Quincey's
opium-eating.
He has demonstrated that no man could have lived so
long--De Quincey was nearly seventy-five at his death--and worked so
hard, if he had consumed twelve thousand drops of laudanum as often as
he said he did. Furthermore, the English essayist's description of the
drug's effects is inexact. He was seldom sleepy--a sure sign, asserts
Dr. Guerrier, that he was not altogether enslaved by the drug habit.
Sprightly in old age, his powers of labour were prolonged until past
three-score and ten. His imagination needed little opium to produce the
famous Confessions. Even Gautier's revolutionary red waistcoat worn at
the premiere of Hernani was, according to Gautier, a pink doublet. And
Rousseau has been whitewashed. So they are disappearing, those literary
legends, until, disheartened, we cry out: Spare us our dear,
old-fashioned, disreputable men of genius!
But the legend of Charles Baudelaire is seemingly indestructible. This
French poet has suffered more from the friendly malignant biographer and
chroniclers than did Poe. Who shall keep the curs out of the cemetery?
asked Baudelaire after he had read Griswold on Poe. A few years later
his own cemetery was invaded and the world was put into possession of
the Baudelaire legend; that legend of the atrabilious, irritable poet,
dandy, maniac, his hair dyed green, spouting blasphemies; that grim,
despairing image of a diabolic, a libertine, saint, and drunkard. Maxime
du Camp was much to blame for the promulgation of these tales--witness
his Souvenirs litteraires. However, it may be confessed that part of the
Baudelaire legend was created by Charles Baudelaire.
