A. Symons - Charles Baudelaire (1918)

7/30/2019 A. Symons - Charles Baudelaire (1918)

1/7

Charles Baudelaire

Author(s): Arthur SymonsSource: The Lotus Magazine, Vol. 9, No. 7 (Apr., 1918), pp. 346-347, 349-352Published by:Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20544046 .

Accessed: 08/07/2013 11:56

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of

content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 193.205.136.165 on Mon, 8 Jul 2013 11:56:51 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
http://www.jstor.org/stable/20544046?origin=JSTOR-pdfhttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/stable/20544046?origin=JSTOR-pdf


2/7

-CHARLES BAUDELAIREBY ARTHUR SYMONS

.~~~

B AUDELAIRE'S genius is satani-ca;he, has -in -asense the vision 'of--. .-7. .< atae: sees .l .pat' the,lusIts'ofthe Borgias, the sins ' nd vices of

'Rie'naissance; the rarevirtues that-ourishl--ike lowers andweeds, inbrt'helsand`-in_garrets.He "seesthanityoef` the'world ith finermodern tastes than Solomon; fo r-hihs-maginations abnormal, and=. .E . no.r. . ... - w .gdi ynormal. In this ageof--infamoushames. he as no'shame. His flesh endures,__*~~~_, h '. _L__ zSf _ _rhis intelect -is lawless.-He chooses his--ownpleasuresdeicately,- sensitively, as hegathers his..exotic Feursdug Mal, in tself--a-orld,neiter aDivina Cmmedia norUne Co iiHumaine-, wt aworld- f his-_ome' ze's"j'tT'-' ' -u a-5 :ns7ow.-nasi -nngHis,,1,,rimidIe-imag t passion,.withhisT i t-- ,i a ay adet-lgrm&DIMil efrsv,a ne-bGe.se',~a"'n0'sity of conceptIon an?mlacable' -inso-:In naurate, sense ote eactof evrywd. -Ii the hBial sense he

might haVe saidof his.ownlverse: -It isbone f m ^^y bean -fe ofm l shthe -vork,'. tiks. m-an, ssubtle,-strange,.-compimatica refinedVparadoxcal spirtua,nma him a&-scento c T-M., . - .T-- . -w,h>-'-;-;---.-:=:mea-ns,mo.r.ehanasunse aperfiumemore-than afler,, tihtempnhg' demons:moreha h:unseductive angels.He Ioves lux~;ury;sheloves,wine; a picture of Manet's-as a, woman. S;' fan-.:Fascinatedb sin, he isnever thedupe''.ofixs-em'otions;he-e'essin as the-OriginaISin; he studiessn he studies evil,witha stern Iogic;-heffinds--n-horror a-kind -of0'attractiveness,'as oe had found it; rarely

in hideous things, save when his sense ofwhat:I call amoraIst makes himmoralise,as in his terriblepoem, Une Cbarogne.He:haspity for misery, hate forprogress. He-is -naIytic,- e is a Iearnedcasuist, whomI can comparewith the formidable Spanish:-Jesuit,'-Thomas Sanchez, who wrotethe -Latin Aphorismi Matrimonio (I629).Hi -soulwimsonmusicplayedon nohuman instrument,but on strings that theDevil puIls, to which -certainliving puppets dance inmrotesque fashion, to unheard-of 'rhythms,to the sound of violinsstrummed on by eviI spirits inWitches':'Sabbats.-ome-swing in theiair, as hangeddead people on gallows, and,sxtheir bonesrattle -inhe-wind, one sees Judas Iscariot,risen-out of HeII for an instant's gratification, as he grimaces on these grimacing'visages.Les Fleurs duMal is the most curious,subtle,- fascinating, and --extraordinarycreation --ofn entireworld ever fashionedin modern ages.. Baudelaire- paints viceand degradation of theutmost depth,withcynicism and with pity, as in the poem Ihave referrred o, where the cult of -thecorpse ISthe sensuai ty of' asceticism, orthe'asceticism of sensuality: themania offakirs;materiaI by passion, -Christian byperversity.And,-in a sense, he isourmodern CatuIlus;- in his furies, his -negations, his out-cries,his Paganism, his inconceivabIepassion forwoman's 'flesh;yet Lesbia is forever Lesbia. Still, Baudelaire in his Franciscaemeae Laudes, -and ith less sting butwith as-much sensuaI sense of the splen. -~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ S

http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp


3/7

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, FROM AN ETCHING

s.. ... .

Courtt,sy ofJhe EArich GalleriesST. EUSTACHE," PARIS, NEAR WHERE BAUDELAIRE WROTE FLEURS D)U MIAL



4/7

CHARLESIBAUDELAIRE 349dour of sex, gives amagnificent Latin eulogy of a learnedand pious modiste, thatends: "'Patera gemmis corusca,

Panis salsus,mollis esca,Divinum vinum, Francisca."And he praises the Decadent Latin language in these words: "Dans cette merveilIeuse langue, le solecisme -et Iebarbarismeme paraissent rendre lesnegIigencesforcees d'une passion qui s'oublie et semoque des regIes."Don Juan aux Enfers is a perfect DeIacroix. InDanse Macabre there is the unlversaI swing of the dancerswho dance theDance of Death.- Death herself, inher extreme horror, ghastIy, perfumed with

myrrh, mixes her ironywith men's insanity as she dances the-Sabbats of Pleasure.He shows us the 'Infamous,menagerie ofthe= ices inhe guise of reptIles;our chiefenemy :Ennui-is cemonstre delicat. ThereareVampires, agonies of thedamned alive;Le Possdef with his excruciating- cry outof all -his fibres: 0 mon cher Belzkbutb! jet'adore!And there are some, subtler andsilent, that seem to move, softIy, as thefeet ofNight, to the soundof int music,or under the shroud of a sunset.Les Fleurs duMal are grown inParisiansoil, exotics that have the strange, secretive, .-haunting touch and taint of the*earth'sr of the body's corruption. In hissense of .beautythere is a certain revolt, aspirItualmalady, which may bringwith itthe heated air of an alcove or the intoxi-cating atmosphere of the East. Neversince Villon has the flesh'of -womanbeenmore adored and abhorred.Both aNvare fthe original sin of l'unique animal-theseed of our moraI degradation-ViIloncreates his GrosseMargot and BaudelaireDelpbine etHippolyte. -Villon's is a scullion-wench, and in the Ballad a Brothelas infamous, as foul, as abominable as aRoman Lupanar surges before one's as

tonished vision. And this comes after hissupreme, his consummate praise of ruinous old age on a harIot's body: Les Regretsde laBelle Heaulmiere. It isone of the immortaI things that exist in theworld, that'I can compare onlywith Rodin's statue inbronze: both equal incarnations of thesymbolicaI conception that sin broughtshame into the firstwoman's flesh.

"Qui m'en reste-il?Honte et PNche:".cries each mouth, cries to the end ofearth's eternity.

In BaudeIaire's FemmesDamn&s thereis the aching souIof the spirit's fatalmaIady: tha.t sexualmalady forwhich there isno remedy: the Lesbian sterIe, perilousdivinisation of flesh for flesh, virginal orunvirginal fleshwitb flesh. In vain desire,of that one desire that exists-beyond allpossible satisfaction, the desire of an utterannihilation of body with body in thatecstasy which -can never be absolutelyachieved without man's flesh, they strive,unconsumed with even the pangs of theirfruitless desires. They liveonly with a lifeof desire, and that obsession has carriedthem beyond, the wholesome bounds ofnature into -theviolence. of a perversitywhich is at times almost insane.And allthis sorrowful and tortured flesh is con-sumedwith that feverishdesire that leavesthem onIy a short space.for their desire'sfruitions.

0 0 XII~II-Certain of -theseFlowers' of Evil -arepoisonous.; some are grown in the hotbedsof Hell; some have the perfume of a serpentine- girl's: skin; some the odour ofwoman's flesh. Certain spirits are intox

icated by these accursed flowers, to savethemselves from the too much horror oftheir vices, from theworse torture of theirviolated virtues. And a cruel imaginationhas fashioned these naked images of the



5/7

350 THE LOTUS MAGAZINESeven Deadly Sins, eternally regretful oftheir first fall; that smile not even inHell,in whose flames they writhe. One conceives them there and between the sunand the earth; in the air, carried by thewinds; -awareof their infernal inheritance.They surge like demons out of theMiddleAges; they are incapable of imaginingGod's justice.Baudelaire dramatises these living images of his spirit and of his imagination,these fabulouscreatures of his inspiration,thesemacabre ghosts, in a fashion utterlydifferent from that of other tragediesShakespeare, and Aristophanes in his satiricalTragedies, his lyricalComedies; yetin the same sense of being thewriter wherebeauty marries unvirginally the sons ofancient Chaos.In these pages swarm(in hiswords) aIlthe corruptions and all the scepticisms;ignoble criminalsWithout convictions, detestable hags that gamble, the cat thatare likemen's mistresses; Harpagon; theexquisite, barbarous, divine, implacable,mysteriousMadonna of theSpanish style;'the ldmen* the drunkards, the assassins,-the lovers (their deaths and lives)-; theowls;-thevampireswhose kisse raise fromthe grave the corpse of its own self; theItremediable-that assails its origin: Consciencein Evil !There is an almostChristlike 'poemon this passion Le Reniement deSaint-Pierre, an almost satanic denunciation'of God inAbel and Cain, and withthem the EvilMonk, an enigmatical symbol of Baudelaire's souI,of hiswork, of 'allthat--his eyes love and hate. Certain ofthese creatures play in travesties, danceinballets. For all theArts are transformedtransfigured, transplanted outof theirnatural forms to pass inmagnificent stateacross the stage the stagewith the abyssof Hell in front of it."Sensualist" -(Iquote a critic), "butthemost profound of sensualists, and, fu

riousof being no more than that, he goes,in his sensation, to the extreme limit, tothe mysterious gate of infinity againstwhich he knocks, yet knows not how toopen,with rage he contracts his tongue inthe vain effort."Yet centuries before himDante entered Hell, traversed it in imag-ination from its endless beginning to itsendless end; returned to earth to write,for the spirit ofBeatrice and for theworld,thatDivina Commedia, ofwhich inVeronacertainwomen said:

"Lo, he that strolls toHell and backAt will I Behold him, howHell's reekHas crisped his beard and singed his cheek."It isBaudelaire who, inHell as inearth,finds a - ertain Satan in such modernhearts as his; that evenmodern art has anessentially demoniacal tendency; that theinfernal pact of man increasesdaily, as iftheDevil whispered inhis ear certain sar

donic secret.Here in such satanic and romantic atmosphere one hears dissonances,the discords of the instruments in the Sabbatts, the howlings' of irony, this vengeance of the vanquished.I give- one sentence. of Gautier's onBaudeIaire. "This poet of Les Fleurs duMal Iovedwhat onewrongly caIIsthe styleof decadence,which is no other thing thanthe arrival of art at this extreme point ofmaturity that determined in their obliquesuns the civilisations that aged: a style-ingenious, complicated, Iearned, full ofshades and of rarities, turning for everbackward the limitsof the language,usingtechnicalvocabuIaries, taking coIoursfromall the.paIettes, notes from aIl the keyboards, striving to render one's thought inwhat ismost ineffable, and form in itsmost vague and evasive contours, listening so as to translate them the subtle confidencesof neurosis, the passionate confesSions of ancient passions in their depravityand the bizarre hallucinations of the fixed



6/7

CHARLES fAUDELAIRE 351in idea."He adds: " In regard to his versethere is the languagealready veined in thegreenness of decomposition, the taintedlanguage of the laterRoman Empire andthe complicated refinements of theByzantine School, the last formofGreek art fallen in delinquencies." See how perfectly-thephrase la languedefaisandke suits theexotic styIe of Baudelaire !-Yet, tainted as the style is from time totime, never was theman himself tainted:he who inmodern verse gave first of allan unknown taste to sensations; he whopainted vice in all its shame;whose mostsavorous verses are perfumed aswith subtle aromas; whose women are bestial,rouged, sterIle, bodies without souls;whose Litanies de Satan have that coldironywhich he alone possessed -in its extremity, in these so-called impious Iineswhich reveal, underwhatever disguise, hisbelief in amathematical superiority established by God fromall eternity, andwhoseleast infraction is punished by certainchastisements, in thisworld as in the next.I can imagine Baudelaire in his.hoursof nocturnal terrors, sleepless in a hiredwoman's bed, saying to himself thesewords ofMarlowe's Satan:

"Why,this isHell, norcan Iout of it 1"in accents of eternal despaLirwrenchedfrom the lips of the Arch Fiend. And thegenius of BaudeIaire, I can but think, wasas much haunted asMarlowe's with, inLamb's words, "a wandering in fieldswhere curiosity is forbidden to go, approaching the dark gulf near enough tolook in."

- ~~~~IIIHas Baudelaire l'amour dumal pour lemal? In a certain sense, yes; in a certainsense, no. He believes in'evil as inSatanandGod-the primitive forces that governworlds: the eternal enemies. He sees the

germs of evil everywhere, few of the seedsof virtue. He sees pass before him theworld's drama: he is one of the actors, heplays his parts cynically, ironically. Hespeaks in rhythmic cadences.But, above all, hewatches the dancers;these also are elemental; and the tragicfact is that the dancers dance for theirliving. For their living, for their pleasure,for thepleasure of pleasing others. So passes the fantastic part of their existence,from the savage who dances silent dances-for, indeed, all dancers are silent-butwithout music, to the dancer who dancesfor us on the stage, who turns always tothe sound of music. There is an equalmagic in the dance and in song; both havetheir varied rhythms; both, to use an image, the rhythmic beating of. our hearts.It is imagined that dancing and musicwere the oldest of the arts. Rhythm hasrightly been called the soul of dancing;both are instinctive.The dance is life,animal life,having itsway passionately. From the first it hasmimed the instincts. The dance, then, isart, because it is doubly Nature: and ifNature, aswe are told, issinfuI, it isdoubly sinful. Even the waItz has a fatalrhythm, that shows us the very patternand symbol of earthly love.Here isNature(to be renouneed, to be at least restrained)burried violently to a point of absolutepassion.And the art of dancing, in itsveryessence, symbolises life;with so faithful arendering of its actual instincts ISo theart of the ballet awaits us, with its shadowy and real life, its power of letting humanity drift into a rhythm somuch of itsown, and with ornament so much moregenerous than itswont.

And something in the particular elegance of the dance, the scenery, the avoidance of emphasis, the evasive, windingturn of things, and, above all, the intellectual as well as sensuous appeal of a liv..



7/7

352 THESAMEOCEANing ..symbol,which can reach the brainthrough the eyes, in the visual, concrete,imaginativeway, has seemed to make theballet concentrate in itself a good deal ofthe modern- ideal Inmatters of artistic expression..Nothing IS tated, there isno intrusion of words used for the- irrelevantpurposeof describing;aworldirises beforeqr -des~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

one, the picture lasts only Iong enough tohave been there: and the dancer,with hergesture, all pure symbol, evokes from hermere beautifuImotion, idea, sensation, aIlthat one need know of events..There, before you, she exists, in harmonious life;and her rhythm reveals to you the soul ofher:imagined being.-Englisb Review.

] e 0 - wu 0 ~S f- -,SAME- OCEAN f *YE ARE -ALL DROPS OF THE SAME OCEAN"- B~ AELFRIDA TILLYARD'~~~~~~~~-0 ',,''.EL''''RIDA2' _

i>;-.-~~~lh Mean.7 - - f -e 0' i:God is the ocean. When the -winds of Time- 'BeatL:onthe surface of- that ageless sea,;1--'Nins arose., -Crested -and girt with -foam,

Proud with themight-hof the resistlessmwave,' I e sles, clshsth srove. And he who rose, -WhNitecrowned,sto,dance an instant in the sun,H,gher.than a theres, broke crshed, swungdownForgt in the dark translucent deep.F- . ,_I --d nt.. eei'-p-~.-'Nighto'-er ,thesea. -Thew-inds.have furIed theirwings;Theturbid foam half-dreaming shrinks to rest,WaVe cured.onave,- and crest -on hattered crest,Until the last -fant irised bubbledies. -

5. Carm= 'screatio's dan, the se uruffl'dlIes.

Thi t t d l d d f 193 205 136 165 M 8 J l 2013 11 56 51 AMAll bj JSTOR T d C di i

Documents

A. Symons - Charles Baudelaire (1918)