Sifted Wayne Cordeirofrancis Chanlarry Osborne

download

https://ebookbell.com/product/sifted-wayne-cordeirofrancis-
chanlarry-osborne-59372172

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

Sifted Pursuing Growth Through Trials Challenges And Disappointments

1st Edition Wayne Cordeiro Francis Chan Larry Osborne

https://ebookbell.com/product/sifted-pursuing-growth-through-trials-
challenges-and-disappointments-1st-edition-wayne-cordeiro-francis-
chan-larry-osborne-48779050

Sifted Pursuing Growth Through Trials Challenges And Disappointments

Wayne Cordeiro Cordeiro

https://ebookbell.com/product/sifted-pursuing-growth-through-trials-
challenges-and-disappointments-wayne-cordeiro-cordeiro-33521674

Shifted The Sundance Series Book 5 Cp Rider

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-the-sundance-series-book-5-cp-
rider-52254492

Shifted Rule The Wolves Of Forest Grove Book 3 Elena Lawson

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-rule-the-wolves-of-forest-grove-
book-3-elena-lawson-52254982
Shifted A Second Chance Romantic Suspense Thriller Lori Matthews

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-a-second-chance-romantic-
suspense-thriller-lori-matthews-54803816

Shifted Soul Book 2 Elena Lawson

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-soul-book-2-elena-
lawson-22351752

Shifted Rose The Cursed Wolves Series Book 1 Holly Hook

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-rose-the-cursed-wolves-series-
book-1-holly-hook-42204184

Shifted Magic Fated To The Wolf Book 1 Heather Renee Mystics Mayhem

https://ebookbell.com/product/shifted-magic-fated-to-the-wolf-
book-1-heather-renee-mystics-mayhem-44763334

Sifters Native American Womens Lives Viewpoints On American Culture

Theda Perdue

https://ebookbell.com/product/sifters-native-american-womens-lives-
viewpoints-on-american-culture-theda-perdue-1720010
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
his masterpiece, and it will always remain, beside certain things of Donne
and of Browning, an astonishing feat in the vivisection of the heart in
verse. It is packed with imagination, but with imagination of so nakedly
human a kind that there is hardly an ornament, hardly an image, in the
verse: it is like scraps of broken—of heart-broken—talk, overheard and
jotted down at random. These cruel and self-torturing lovers have no
illusions, and their tragic hints "are like a fine, pained mockery of love
itself as they struggle open-eyed against the blindness of passion. The
poem laughs while it cries, with a double-mindedness more constant than
that of Heine; with, at times, an acuteness of sensation carried to the
point of agony at which Othello sweats words like these:
"O thou Weed
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet
That the sense aches at thee, would thou had'st ne'er been
born."
Another question arises: How can a man who wrote his letters in a café,
anywhere, do more than jot down whatever came into his head? Has he
ever given an account of one day in his life—eventful or uneventful? You
might as well try to count the seconds of your watch as try to write for
yourself your sensations during one day. What seems terrible is the
rapidity of our thoughts: yet, fortunately, one is not always thinking.
"Books think for me; I don't think," says Lamb in one of his paradoxes.
There is not much thought in his prose: imagination, humour, salt and
sting, tragical emotions, and, on the whole, not quite normal. How can
any man of genius be entirely normal?
The most wonderful letters ever written are Lamb's. Yet, as in Balzac's, in
Baudelaire's, in Browning's, so few of Lamb's letters, those works of
nature, and almost more wonderful than works of art, are to be taken on
oath. Those elaborate lies, which ramify through them into patterns of
sober-seeming truth, are in anticipation, and were of the nature of a
preliminary practice for the innocent and avowed fiction of the essays.
What began in mischief ends in art.
The life of Baudelaire, like the lives of Balzac and of Villiers and of
Verlaine, was one long labour, in which time, money, and circumstances
were all against him. "Sometimes," Balzac cries, "it seems to me that my
brain is on fire. I shall die in the trenches of the intellect." It is his genius,
his imagination, that are on fire, not so much as his sleepless brain. This
certainly Baudelaire never felt. Yet, in one sentence written in 1861, I find
an agony not unlike Balzac's, but more material, more morbid: "La plupart
des temps je me dis: si je vis, je vivrai toujours de même, en damné, et
quand la mort naturelle viendra, je serai vieux, usé, passé de mode, criblé
de dettes; ajoute à cela que je trouve souvent qu'on ne me rend pas
justice, et que je vois que tout réussit à souhait pour les sots." This, with
his perpetual nervous terrors, his hallucinations, his drugs, his miseries,
his women, his wine, his good and bad nights, his sense of poisonous
people, his disorders, his excitability, his imagination that rarely leaves
him, his inspiration that often varies, his phrase, after a certain despair:
"Je me suis précipité dans le travail: alors j'ai reconnu que je n'avais perdu
aucune faculté;" his discouragements, his sudden rages, not only against
fame, but when he just refrains from hitting a man's face with his stick;
after all this, and after much more than this, I have to take his word,
when he says—not thinking of these impediments in his way—"What
poets ought to do is to know how to escape from themselves." In 1861 he
writes: "As my literary situation is more than good, I can do all I want, I
can get all my books printed; yet, as I have the misfortune in possessing a
kind of unpopular spirit, I shall not make much money, but I shall leave a
great fame behind me—provided I have the courage to live." "Provided
"That word sounds a note of nervous distress. He continues: "I have
made a certain amount of money; if I had not had so many debts, and if I
had had more fortune, I might have been rich" The last five words he
writes in small capitals. And this lamentable refrain is part of his
obsession; wondering, as we all do, why we have never been rich. Then
comes this curious statement: "What exasperates me is when I think of
what I have received this year; it is enormous; certainly I have lived on
this money like a ferocious beast; and yet how often I spend much less
than that in sheer waste!"

VIII

In 1861 Poulet-Malassis showed Baudelaire the manuscript of Les Martyrs

ridicules of Léon Cladel, who was so excited as he read it, so intrigued by
his antithetical constructions and by the mere singularity of the title, and
so amazed by this writer's audacity, that he made his acquaintance, went
over his proofs, and helped to teach him the craft of letters. So, in his
sombre and tragic and passionate and feverish novels, we see the
inevitable growth out of the hard soil of Quercy, and out of the fertilizing
contact of Paris and Baudelaire, of this whole literature, so filled with
excitement, so nervous, so voluminous and vehement, in whose pages
speech is always out of breath. And one finds splendid variations in his
stories of peasants and wrestlers and thieves and prostitutes: something
at once epic and morbid.
Baudelaire, in his preface, points out the solemn sadness and the grim
irony with which Cladel relates deplorably comic facts; the fury with which
he insists on painting his strange characters; the fantastic fashion in which
he handles sin with the intense curiosity of a casuist, analysing evil and its
inevitable consequences. He notes "la puissance sinistrement caricatural
de Cladel." But it is in these two sentences that he sums up, supremely,
the beginning and the end of realistic and imaginative art. "The Poet,
under his mask, still lets himself be seen. But the supremacy of art had
consisted in remaining glacial and hermetically sealed, and in leaving to
the reader all the merit of indignation. (Le poète, sous son masque, se
laisse encore voir. Le supreme de l'art eût consisté à rester glacial et
fermé, et à laisser au lecteur tout le mérite de l'indignation.)"
 Édouard Manet, 1865.

Certain of these pages are ironical and sinister and cynical; as, for
instance, in this sentence: "Quant aux insectes amoureux, je ne crois
pas que les figures de rhétorique dont ils se servent pour gémir leurs
passions soient mesquines; toutes les mansardes entendant tous les
soirs des tirades tragiques dont la Comédie Française ne pourra
jamais bénéficier." And it is in regard to this that I give certain
details of an anecdote related by Cladel of Baudelaire, which refers
to the fatal year when he left Paris for Brussels.
Both often went to the Café de la Belle-Poule; and, one night, when
Cladel was waiting for Baudelaire, a very beautiful woman seated
opposite him asked him to present her to Baudelaire. He laughed
and they waited, and Baudelaire was presented, who, after giving
them the usual drinks, at the end of an hour went away. This went
on for a whole month; when Baudelaire, after her incessant
assiduities to him, brought her home with him, Cladel also. They
talk. The woman becomes lascivious. Baudelaire answers that he has
a passion for beautiful forms and does not wish to expose himself to
a deception. She undresses slowly. She is magnificent, and her
tresses are so long that, with leaning over a little, she could put her
naked feet on the ends of them. She assumes, being probably aware
of it, the exact pose of Mademoiselle de Maupin when she stands
naked before d'Albert. Cladel goes out. He has not quite closed the
door when he hears Baudelaire, prematurely old and worn out, say:
"Rhabille-toi." Still vital, he has no more the abstract heat of rapture
of the passionate lover in Gautier's famous self-confessions; for, in
that wonderful book, there is nothing besides a delicately depraved
imagination and an extreme ecstasy over the flesh and the senses.
And he also realized, as Baudelaire did not always, that the beauty
of life was what he wanted, and not the body, that frail and
perishable thing, that has to be pitied, that so many desire to
perpetuate.
Yet never in Baudelaire, as in Gautier, did the five senses become
articulate, as if they were made specially for him; for he speaks for
them with a dreadful unconcern. All his words are—never
Baudelaire's—in love with matter, and they enjoy their lust and have
no recollection. Yet neither were absolutely content with the beauty
of a woman's body: for the body must finally dwindle and expand to
some ignoble physical condition, and on certain women's necks
wrinkles will crawl, and the fire in one's blood sometimes loses some
of its heat; only, one wants to perpetuate the beauty of life itself,
imperishable at least in its recurrence.
In his preface Baudelaire compares Murger with Musset, both
Bohemian classics, only one spoke of Bohemia with a bitter
bantering, and the poet, when he was not in his noble moods, had
crises of fatuity. "All this evil society, with its vile habits, its
adventurous morals, was painted by the vivid pencil-strokes of
Murger; only he jested in his relations of miserable things." Yes,
Murger is a veracious historian; believe him, if you do not know or
have forgotten, that such are the annals of Bohemia. There, people
laugh just so lightly and sincerely, weep and laugh just as freely, are
really hungry, really have their ambitions, and at times die of all
these maladies. It is the gayest and most melancholy country in the
world. To have lived there too long, is to find all the rest of the world
in exile. But if you have been there or not, read Murger's pages;
there, perhaps, you will see more of the country than anything less
than a lifetime spent in it will show you.

IX

In April, 1864, Baudelaire left Paris for Brussels, where he stayed in

the Hôtel du Grand-Miroir, rue de la Montagne. Before then his
nerves had begun to torment him; they played tricks with his very
system; he wrote very little prose and no verse. It was with a kind of
desperate obstination—a more than desperate obstinacy—that he
strove to prevent himself from giving way to his pessimistic
conceptions of life, to his morbid over-sensibility that ached as his
flesh ached. Unsatiated, unsatisfied, for once in his existence
irresolute in regard to what he wanted to do, watching himself with
an almost casuistical casuistry, alone and yet not alone in the streets
of Paris, he wandered, a noctambule, night after night, sombre and
sinister. So a ghost self-obsessed might wander in desolate cities
seeing ever before him the Angel of Destruction.
Did he then know that he was becoming more and more abnormal?
This I ignore. This, I suppose, he alone knew; and hated too much
knowledge of his precarious condition. He was veritably more alone
than ever, before he plunged—as one who might see shipwreck
before him—into that gulf that is no gulf, that extends not between
hell and heaven, but that one names Brussels.
 Autograph Letter of Baudelaire to Charles Asselineau, 1865.

Still he frequented his favourite haunts, the Moulin-Rouge, the

Casino de la rue Cadet, and other cabarets. He saw then, as I saw
many years afterwards, pass some of his Flowers of Evil—some who
knew him and had read his verses, most of whom he ignored—
macabre, with hectic cheeks and tortured eyes and painted faces;
these strange nocturnal birds of passage that flit to and fro, the
dancers and the hired women; always—so Latin an attitude of their
traditional trade!—with enquiring and sidelong glances at men and
at women.
I can see him now, as I write, sit in certain corners of the Moulin-
Rouge—as I did—drinking strange drinks and smoking cigarettes;
hearing with all his old sensuality that adorable and cynical and
perverse and fascinating Valse des Roses of Olivier Métra: a
maddening music to the soundless sound of the mad dances of the
Chahut—danced by dancers of both sexes, ambiguous and exotic
and neurotic—that, as the avid circle forms hastily around them, set
their fevers into our fevers, their nerves into our nerves.
It was in May, 1892, that, having crossed the streets of Paris from
the hotel where I was staying, the Hôtel Corneille, in the Latin
Quarter (made famous by Balzac in his superb story, Z. Marcas,) I
found myself in Le Jardin de Paris, where I saw for the first time La
Mélinite. She danced in a quadrille: young and girlish, the more
provocative because she played as a prude, with an assumed
modesty; décolletée nearly to the waist, in the Oriental fashion. She
had long, black curls around her face; and had about her a depraved
virginity.
And she caused in me, even then, a curious sense of depravity that
perhaps comes into the verses I wrote on her. There, certainly, on
the night of May 22nd, danced in her feverish, her perverse, her
enigmatical beauty, La Mélinite, to her own image in the mirror:
"A shadow smiling
Back to a shadow in the night,"
as she cadenced Olivier Métra's Valse des Roses.
It is a fact of curious interest that in 1864 Poulet-Malassis was
obliged to leave Paris—on account of his misfortunes as a publisher,
in regard to money, and for various other reasons—and to exile
himself in Brussels: still more curious that Baudelaire—drawn,
perhaps, by some kind of affinity in their natures—followed him
sooner than he had intended to go. Malassis lived in rue de
Mercedes, 35 bis, Faubourg d'Ixilles. In those years both saw a great
deal of the famous, perverse, macabre Félicien Rops.
Malassis, naturally, was obliged, in his expedients for living as he
used to live, to publish privately printed obscene books; some no
more than erotic. As Baudelaire hated, with his Parisian refinement,
that kind of certainly objectionable literature, on May 4th, 1865, he
writes to Sainte-Beuve: "As for Malassis, his terrible affair arrives on
the 12th. He believes he will be condemned for five years. What
there is grave in this is that that closes France for him for five years.
But that cuts him for a time from his ways of living. I see in it no
great evil. As for me, who am no fool, I have never possessed one of
these idiotic books, even printed in fine characters and with fine
engravings." As a matter of fact, Malassis was condemned in May,
1866, to one year's imprisonment for having privately printed Les
Amies of Paul Verlaine—a book of sonnets, attributed to an
imaginary Pablo de Herlaguez.
Baudelaire, as I have said, had many reasons for going to Brussels.
Among these was his urgent desire of finding a publisher to print his
collected works—having failed to find any publisher for them.
Another was that of giving lectures—a thing he was not made for—
and for two other reasons: one of making immediate money, one of
adding to his fame as a writer. Then, to write a book on Belgium.
He writes to Manet (who has written to him: "Do return to Paris! No
happiness can come to you while you live in that damned country!"):
"As for finishing here Pauvre Belgique, I am incapable of it: I am
near on dead. I have quite a lot of Poèmes en Prose to get printed in
magazines. I can do no more than that. Je souffre d'un mal qui je
n'ai pas, comme j'étais gamin, et que je vivais au bout du monde."
His book was to have been humorous, mocking, and serious—his
final separation from modern stupidity. "People may understand me,
perhaps, then." "Nothing," he confesses, "can console me in my
detestable misery, in my humiliating situation, nor especially in my
vices."
In February, 1865, he writes: "As for my present state, it is an
absolute abdication of the will. (C'est une parfaite abdication de la
volonté.)" What reason, I wonder, was there for him to "abdicate"
the one element in our natures by which we live at our greatest, the
very root of our passions (as Balzac said), "nervous fluids and that
unknown substance which, in default of another term, we must call
the will?" Man has a given quality of energy; each man a different
quality: how will he spend it? That is Balzac's invariable question. All
these qualities were always in Baudelaire.
Had he finally, after so many years in which his energy was
supreme, lost some of his energy, struggling, as he seems to do,
against insuperable difficulties that beset him on either side, like
thieves that follow men in the dark with the intention of stabbing
you in the back? Does he then try to conjecture what next year
might bring him of good or of evil? He has lived his life after his own
will: what shall the end be? He dares neither look backward nor
forward. It might be that he feels the earth crumbling under his feet;
for how many artists have had that fear—the fear that the earth
under their feet may no longer be solid? There is another step for
him to take, a step that frightens him; might it not be into another
more painful kind of oblivion? Has something of the man gone out of
him: that is to say, the power to live for himself?
In the summer of 1865 Baudelaire spent several days in Paris,
seeing Banville and other friends of his. They found him unchanged;
his eyes clear; his voice musical; he talked as wonderfully as ever.
They used all their logic to persuade him to remain in Paris. He
refused, even after Gautier had said to him: "You are astonishing:
can one conceive your mania of eternalizing yourself in a land where
one is only bored to extinction?" He laughed; promised to return: he
never did; it was the last day when his friends possessed him
entirely.
In his years of exile he printed Poe's Histoires grotesques et
sérieuses (1864); Les nouvelles fleurs du mal in La Parnasse
contemporaine (1866). In 1865 Poulet-Malassis printed Les épaves
de Charles Baudelaire. Avec une eau-forte de Félicien Rops.
Amsterdam. A l'enseigne du Coq. 1865. 165 pages.
"Avertissement de l'Éditeur.
"Ce recueil est composé de morceaux poétiques, pour la plupart
condamnés ou inédits, auxquels M. Charles Baudelaire n'a pas cru
devoir faire place dans l'édition définitive des Fleurs du mal.
"Cela explique son titre.
"M. Charles Baudelaire a fait don, sans réserve, de ces poëmes, à un
ami qui juge à propos de les publier, parce qu'il se flatte de les
goûter, et qu'il est à un âge où l'on aime encore à faire partager ses
sentiments à des amis auxquels on prête ses vertus.
"L'auteur sera avisé de cette publication en même temps que les
deux cents soixantes lectures probables qui figurent—à peu près—
pour son éditeur bénévole, le public littéraire en France, depuis que
les bêtes y ont décidément usurpé la parole sur les hommes."
I have before me two copies of this rare edition, printed on yellow
Holland paper; one numbered 100, the other 194. The second has
inscribed in ink: A Monsieur Rossetti pour remplir les intentions de
l'auteur avec les civilités de l'éditeur A. P. Malassis. This was sent on
the part of Baudelaire to Dante Gabriel Rossetti. It is superbly bound
in a kind of red-purple thick leather binding, with pale gold squares,
in the form of the frame of a picture; done, certainly, with great
taste.
On January 3, 1865, Baudelaire writes a letter to his mother; a letter
that pains one as one reads it: so resigned he seems to be, yet
never in his life less resigned to his fate. He fears that God might
deprive him of even happiness; that it is more difficult to think than
to write a book; that if only he were certain of having five or six
years before him he might execute all that remained for him to do;
that he has the fixed idea of death; that he has suffered so much
already that he believes many things may be forgiven him (sins of
concupiscence, sins of conscience, sins one never forgets) as he has
been punished so much.
I pass from this to the beginning of March, 1866. He stays with Rops
at Namur, where (certainly by bad luck) he enters again l'Église
Saint-Loup, which he had spoken of as "this sinister marvel in the
interior of a catafalque—terrible and delicious—broidered with gold,
red, and silver." As he admires these richly sculptured confessionals,
as he speaks with Rops and Malassis, he stumbles, taken by a kind
of dizziness in the head, and sits down on a step in the church. They
lift him up; he feigns not to be frightened, says that his foot had
slipped accidentally. Next day he shows signs of a nervous trouble,
not a mental one; asking them in the train to Brussels to have the
window opened; it is open. That is the first sign of his loss of
speech, and the last letter that he ever wrote (dated March 30th,
1866), ends: Je ne puis pas bouger. It is strange to set beside this
Balzac's last words, that end a letter written June 20th, 1856: Je ne
puis ni lire ni écrire. It is written to Théophile Gautier.
Swinburne, having heard the fatal news in regard to Baudelaire,
added to his book on Blake these magnificent words: as pure, as
fervent a tribute to the memory of a fellow-artist as Baudelaire might
have wished to have been written on himself, as Swinburne might
have desired to have been written on himself: "I heard that a mortal
illness had indeed stricken the illustrious poet, the faultless critic, the
fearless artist; that no more of fervent yet of perfect verse, no more
of subtle yet of sensitive comment, will be granted us at the hands
of Charles Baudelaire. We may see again as various a power as was
his, may feel again as fiery a sympathy, may hear again as tragic a
manner of revelation, as sad a whisper of knowledge, as mysterious
a music of emotion; we shall never find so keen, so delicate, so deep
an unison of sense and spirit. What verse he could make, how he
loved all fair and felt all strange things, with what infallible taste he
knew at once the limit and the licence of his art, all may see at a
glance. He could give beauty to the form, expression to the feeling,
most horrible and most obscure to the senses or souls of lesser men.
The chances of things parted us once and again; the admiration of
some years, at least in part expressed, brought him near to me by
way of written or transmitted word; let it be an excuse for the
insertion of this note, and for a desire, if so it must be, to repeat for
once the immortal words which too often return upon our lips:
Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale!"
And I, who have transcribed these words, have before me a book
that Swinburne showed me, that he had richly bound in Paris, and
that I bought at the sale of his library on June 19th: Richard Wagner
et Tannhäuser à Paris. Par Charles Baudelaire. Paris, 1861; with,
written in pencil, on the page before the title-page, these words:
 "A Mr. Algernon C. Swinburne. Bon Souvenir et mille
Remerciements. C. B."

From April 9, 1866, to August 31, 1867, Baudelaire endures the slow
tortures of a body and a soul condemned to go on living; living,
what else can it be called, than a kind of living death? To remain, in
most senses, himself; to be, as always, Charles Baudelaire; to have
in his mind one desire, the desire, the vain desire, of recovery; to be
unable to utter one word; to think, to sleep, to conceive imaginary
projects, for his near future, for his verse, for his prose: to walk, to
eat, to drink; to be terribly conscious of his dolorous situation; to be,
as ever, anxious for a new edition of Les fleurs du mal; to mark a
date in an almanac, counting three months, when he imagined he
would be in a state to superintend the impression of his final edition;
to have finally given up all hope, all illusion; to have gazed out of his
wonderful eyes, at his friend's faces, eyes shadowed by an
expression of infinite sadness, eyes that endured his last tragedy:
that is how Baudelaire survived himself to the end.
He died on Saturday, August 31, 1867, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, at the age of forty-six and four months. So died, simply
and without any trace of suffering, this man of genius. Had he been
thoroughly understood by the age in which he lived? Blake, who said
the final truth on this question: "The ages are all equal; but genius is
always above the ages:" was not understood in his age.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND NOTES

1. Salon de 1845. Pax Baudelaire-Dufays. Paris, Jules Labitte, 1845.

72 pp.
2. Salon de 1846. Par Baudelaire-Dufays. Paris, Michel Lévy, 1846.
132 pp.
3. Histoires extraordinaires. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction de Charles
Baudelaire. Paris, Michel Lévy, 1856.

1. Edgar Poe, La vie et ses œuvres, pp. vii-xxxi. 2. Translations,

323 pp.

4. Nouvelles histoires extraordinaires. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction de

Charles Baudelaire. Michel Lévy, 1857.

1. Notes nouvelles sur Edgar Poe, pp. v-xxiv. 2. Translations,

288 pp.

5. Les fleurs du mal. Par Charles Baudelaire. Paris, Poulet-Malassis et

de Broise, 4 rue de Buci, 1857. 252 pp.

1. Dédicace. 2. Au Lecteur.
SPLEEN ET IDÉAL.—1. Bénédiction. 2. Le Soleil. 3. Élévation. 4.
Correspondances. 5. J'aime le souvenir de ces époques nues. 6.
Les Phares. 7. La Muse malade. 8. La Muse vénale. 9. Le
Mauvais Moine. 10. L'Ennemi. 11. Le Guignon. 12. La Vie
intérieure. 13. Bohémiens en voyage. 14. L'Homme et la mer.
15. Don Juan aux enfers. 16. Châtiment de l'orgueil. 17. La
Beauté. 18. L'Idéal. 19. La Géante. 20. Les Bijoux. 21. Parfum
exotique. 22. Je t'adore à l'égal de la voûte nocturne. 23. Tu
mettre l'univers entier dans ta ruelle. 24. Sed non satiata. 25.
Avec ses vêtements ondoyants et nacrés. 26. Le Serpent qui
danse. 27. La Charogne. 28. De profundis clamavi. 29. Le
Vampire. 30. Le Léthé. 31. Une nuit que j'étais près d'une
affreuse Juive. 32. Remords posthume. 33. Le Chat. 34. Le
Balcon. 35. Je te donne ces vers afin que si mon nom. 36. Tout
entière. 37. Que diras-tu ce soir, pauvre âme solitaire. 38. Le
Flambeau vivant. 39. A Celle qui est trop gaie. 40. Réversibilité.
41. Confession. 42. L'Aube spirituelle. 43. Harmonie du soir. 44.
Le Flacon. 45. Le Poison. 46. Ciel brouillé. 47. Le Chat. 48. Le
beau navire. 49. L'Invitation au voyage. 50. L'Irréparable. 51.
Causerie. 52. L'Héautontimouroménos. 53. Franciscae meae
 laudes. 54. A une Dame Créole. 55. Moesta et Errabunda. 56.
Les Chats. 57. Les Hiboux. 58. La cloche fêlée. 59. Spleen. 60.
Spleen. 61. Spleen. 62. Spleen. 63. Brumes et pluies. 64.
L'Irrémédiable. 65. A une mendiante rousse. 66. Le Jeu. 67. Le
Crépuscule du soir. 68. Le Crépuscule du matin. 69. Le servante
au grand cœur dont vous étiez jaloux. 70. Je n'ai pas oublié,
voisine de la ville. 71. Le Tonneau de la haine. 72. Le Revenant.
73. Le Mort joyeux. 74. Sépulture. 75. Tristesses de la lune. 76.
La Musique. 77. La Pipe.
FLEURS DU MAL.—78. La Destruction. 79. Une Martyr. 80. Lesbos.
81. Femmes damnées (Delphine et Hippolyte). 82. Femmes
damnées. 83. Les deux bonnes sœurs. 84. La fontaine de sang.
85. Allégorie. 86. La Beatrice. 87. Les métamorphoses du
vampire. 88. Un voyage à Cythère. 89. L'Amour et le crâne.
RÉVOLTE.—90. Le reniement de Saint Pierre. 91. Abel et Caïn. 92.
Les Litanies de Satan.
LE VIN.—93. L'âme du vin. 94. Le vin des chiffonniers. 95. Le vin
de l'assassin. 96. Le vin du solitaire. 97. Le vin des amants.
LA MORT.—98. La mort des amants. 99. La mort des pauvres.
100. La mort des artistes.

6. Aventures d'Arthur Gordon Pym. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction de

Charles Baudelaire. Paris, Michel Lévy, 1858. 200 pp.
7. Théophile Gautier. Par Charles Baudelaire. Notice littéraire
précédée d'une lettre de Victor Hugo. Paris, Poulet-Malassis et de
Broise, 9 rue des Beaux-Arts, 1859.

1. A M. Charles Baudelaire de Victor Hugo, pp. i, iii. 2. Théophile

Gautier, 68 pp.

8. Les paradis artificiels: opium et haschisch. Par Charles Baudelaire.

Paris, Poulet-Malassis et de Broise, 9 rue des Beaux-Arts, 1860.
 1. Dédicace à J. G. F., pp. i-iv. 2. Le poème du haschisch, pp. 1-
108. 3. Un mangeur d'opium, pp. 109-304.

On the back of the cover is this announcement:

"Sous Presse, du même auteur: Réflexions sur quelques-uns, de mes
Contemporains; un volume contenant: Edgar Poe, Théophile Gautier,
Pierre Dupont, Richard Wagner, Auguste Barbier, Leconte de Lisle,
Hégésippe Moreau, Pétrus Borel, Marceline Desbordes-Valmore,
Gustave le Vavasseur, Gustave Flaubert, Philibert Rouvière; la famille
des Dandies, ou Chateaubriand, de Custine, Paul de Molinès, and
Barbey d'Aurévilly."
This volume appeared in part in L'Art Romantique (1868); several of
these essays were never written, such as the one on Barbey
d'Aurévilly. Seconde Édition, 1861.
9. Les Fleurs du Mal de Charles Baudelaire.
Seconde Édition augmentée de trente-cinq poëmes nouveaux et
orné d'un Portrait de l'Auteur dessiné et gravé par Bracquemond.
Paris, Poulet-Malassis et de Broise, Éditeurs, 97 rue de Richelieu et
Passage Mirés, 1861. 319 pp.

1. L'Albatros. 2. Le Masque. Statue Allégorique dans le goût de

la Renaissance. 3. Hymne à la Beauté. 4. La Chevelure. 5.
Duellum. 6. Le Possédé. 7. Un Fantôme: (1) Les Ténèbres. (2)
Le Parfum. (3) Le Cadre. (4) Le Portrait. 8. Sempre eadem. 9.
Chant d'Automne. 10. A une Madone. Ex-Voto dans le goût
Espagnol. 11. Chanson d'Après-Midi. 12. Sisina. 13. Sonnet
d'automne. 14. Une Gravure fantastique. 15. Obsession. 16. Le
Goût du néant. 17. Alchimie de la Douleur. 18. Horreur
Sympathique. 19. L'Horloge. 20. Un Paysage. 21. Le Cynge. 22.
Les Sept Vieillards. 23. Les Petites Vieilles. 24. Les Aveugles. 25.
A une passante. 26. Le Squelette laboureur. 27. Danse macabre.
28. L'Amour du mensonge. 29. Rêve Parisien. 30. La Fin de la
journée. 31. Le Rêve d'un curieux. 32. Le Voyage.
10. Richard Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris. Par Charles Baudelaire.
Paris, E. Dentu, Palais-Royale, 13 et 17, Galerie d'Orléans, 1861. 70
pp.
11. Euréka. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction par Charles Baudelaire. Paris,
Michel Lévy, 1864. 252 pp.
12. Histoires Grotesques et Sérieuses. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction par
Charles Baudelaire. Paris, Michel Lévy, 1865. 372 pp.
13. Les épaves de Charles Baudelaire. Avec une Eau-forte.
Frontispiece de Félicien Rops. Amsterdam, à l'Enseigne du Coq,
1865.

1. Avertissement de l'Éditeur, pp. i-iii. 2. Les épaves, 163 pp.

14. Les épaves de Charles Baudelaire. Avec une Eau-forte de Félicien

Rops. Amsterdam, à l'Enseigne du Coq, 1865. Numéro 194.
15. Les épaves de Charles Baudelaire. Avec une Eau-forte de Félicien
Rops. Amsterdam, à l'Enseigne du Coq, 1865. Numéro 100.

A Monsieur Rossetti pour remplir les intentions de l'auteur, avec

les civilités de l'Editeur. A. P. Malassis.

II
Édition Définitive des œuvres de Charles Baudelaire. Paris, Michel
Lévy et Frères, Libraires Éditeurs, rue Vivienne, 2 bis, et Boulevard
des Italiens, 15. A la Librairie Nouvelle, 1868-1869.
Volume I. LES FLEURS DU MAL. 414 pp.
Volume II. CURIOSITÉS ESTHÉTIQUES. 440 pp.

1. Salon de 1845. 2. Salon de 1846. 3. Le Musée Classique du

Bazar Bonne Nouvelle (1846). 4. Exposition Universale de 1855.
Beaux Arts (1855). 5. Salon de 1850? 6. De l'Essence du Rire, et
généralement du Comique dans les Arts Plastiques. 7. Quelques
Caricaturistes Français: Carle Vernet. Pigal. Charlet. Daumier.
 Henri Monnier. Grandville. Gavami. Trimolet. Traviès. Jacque
(1857). 8. Quelques Caricaturistes Étrangers: Hogarth.
Cruikshank. Goya. Pinelli. Breughel (1857).

Volume III. L'ART ROMANTIQUE.

1. L'œuvre et la vie d'Eugène Delacroix (1862). 2. Peintures

murales d'Eugène Delacroix à Saint-Sulpice (1861). 3. Le Peintre
de la Vie Moderne. Constantin Guys (1862). 4. Peintres et Aqua-
fortistes (1862). 5. Vente de le Collection de M. E. Piot (1864).
6. L'Art Philosophique. 7. Morale des Joujou (1854). 8. Théophile
Gautier (1859-1861-1862). 9. Pierre Dupont (1852-1861-1862).
10. Richard Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris. Encore quelques
Mots (1861). u. Philibert Rouvière (1855). 12. Conseils aux
jeunes Littérateurs (1846). 13. Les Drames et les Romans
honnêtes (1850). 14. L'École Païenne (1851). 15. Réflexions sur
quelques-uns de mes Contemporaines: (1) Victor Hugo (1861).
(2) Auguste Barbier (1861). (3) Marceline Desbordes-Valmore
(1861). (4) Théophile Gautier (1861). (5) Pétrus Borel (1861).
(6) Hégéssipe Moreau (1861). (7) Théodore de Banville (1861).
(8) Pierre Dupont (1852). (9) Leconte de Lisle (1861). (10)
Gustave Levavasseur (1861).
CRITIQUES LITTÉRAIRES.—1. Les Misérables, par Victor Hugo
(1862). 2. Madame Bovary, par Gustave Flaubert. (1857). 3. La
double vie, par Charles Asselineau (1859). 4. Les martyrs
ridicules, par Léon Cladel (1861).

Volume IV. 1. PETITS POEMES EN PROSE.

A ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE.—1. L'Étranger (1862). 2. Le Désespoir de la

vieille (1862). 3. Le Confiteor de l'artiste (1862). 4. Un Plaisant
(1862). 5. Le Chambre double (1862). 6. Chacun sa chimère
(1862). 7. Le fou et la Vénus (1862). 8. Le Chien et le Flacon
(1862). 9. Le Mauvais Vitrier (1862). 10. A une heure du matin
(1862). 11. Le Femme sauvage et le Petite Maîtresse (1862).
12. Les Foules (1861). 13. Les Veuves (1861). 14. Le Vieux
 Saltimbanque (1861). 15. Le Gâteau (1862). 16. L'Horloge
(1857). 17. Un Hémisphère dans une chevelure (1857). 18.
L'Invitation au voyage (1857). 19. Le Joujou du pauvre (1862).
20. Les Dons des fées (1862). 21. Les Tentations, ou Éros,
Plutus et la Gloire (1863). 22. Le Crépuscule du Soir (1855). 23.
La Solitude (1855). 24. Les Projets (1857). 25. La Belle
Dorothée (1863). 26. Les Yeux des Pauvres (1864). 27. Une
Mort Héroïque (1863). 28. La Fausse Monnaie (1864). 29. Le
Joueur généreux (1864). 30. La Corde, à Edouard Manet
(1864). 31. Les Vocations (1864). 32. Le Thyrse. A Franz Liszt
(1863). 33. Enivrez-vous (1864). 34. Déjà! (1863). 35. Les
Fenêtres (1863). 36. Le Désir de peindre (1863). 37. Les
Bienfaits de la lune (1863). 38. Laquelle est la vraie? (1863). 39.
Un Cheval de race (1864). 40. Le Miroir (1864). 41. Le Port
(1864). 42. Portraits de maîtresses (1867). 43. Le galant Tireur
(1867). 44. La Soupe et les Nuages (1864). 45. Le Tir et la
Cimetière (1867). 46. Porte d'Auréole (1867). 47. Mademoiselle
Bistouri (1867). 48. (Anywhere out of the world): N'importe où
hors du monde (1867). 49. Assommons les pauvres (1867). 50.
Les Bon Chiens à M. Joseph Stevens (1865). Epilogue (1860).

2. LES PARADIS ARTIFICIELS.

A. J. G. F. LE POÈME DU HASCHISCH.

1. Le Goût de l'Infini. 2. Qu'est-ce que le Haschisch? 3. Le

Théâtre du Séraphin. 4. L'Homme-Dieu. 5. Morale.
UN MANGEUR D'OPIUM.—1. Précautions oratoires. 2. Confessions
préliminaires. 3. Voluptés d'opium. 4. Tortures d'opium. 5. Un
Faux Dénouement. 6. Le Génie enfant. 7. Chagrins d'enfance. 8.
Visions d'Oxford: (1) Le Palimpseste. (2) Levana et nos Notre-
Dame des Tristesses. (3) Le Spectre du Brocken. (4) Savannah-
la-Mer. 9. Conclusion.

DU VIN ET DU HASCHISCH, COMPARÉS COMME MOYENS DE MULTIPLICATION DE

L'INDIVIDUALITÉ, 1851, 1858.
 1, 2, 3. Le Vin. 5, 6, 7. Le Haschisch.

LA FANFARLO, 1847.
LE JEUNE ENCHANTEUR. HISTOIRE TIRÉE D'UN PALIMPSESTE DE POMPÉIA,
1846.
Volume V. HISTOIRES EXTRAORDINAIRES. Par Edgar Poe. Traduction de
Charles Baudelaire.

1. Edgar Poe: sa vie et ses œuvres. 2. Double assassinat dans la

rue Morgue. 3. La lettre volée. 4. Le scarabée d'or. 5. Le canard
au ballon. 6. Aventure sans pareille d'un certain Hans Pfaall. 7.
Manuscrit trouvé dans une bouteille. 8. Une descente dans le
Maelstrom. 9. Le vérité sur le cas de M. Valdemar. 10.
Révélation magnétique, 11. Les souvenirs de M. Auguste
Bedloe. 12. Morella. 13. Ligeia. 14. Metzengerstein. 15. Le
Mystère de Marie Roget.

Volume VI. NOUVELLES HISTOIRES EXTRAORDINAIRES. Par Edgar Poe.

Traduction de Charles Baudelaire.

1. Notes nouvelles sur Edgar Poe. 2. Le Démon de la Perversité.

3. Le Chat noir. 4. William Wilson. 5. L'homme des foules. 6. Le
cœur révélateur. 7. Bérénice. 8. La chute de la maison Usher. 9.
Le puits et la pendule. 10. Hop-Frog. 11. La Barrique
d'Amontillado. 12. Le Masque de la Mort rouge. 13. Le Roi
Peste. 14. Le Diable dans le beffroi. 15. Lionnerie. 16. Quatre
bêtes en une. 17. Petite discussion avec une momie. 18.
Puissance de la Parole. 19. Colloque entre Monos et Una. 20.
Conversation d'Eiros avec Charmion. 21. Ombre. 22. Silence. 23.
L'île de la Fée. 24. Le Portrait Ovale.

Volume VII. AVENTURES D'ARTHUR GORDON PYM. EURÉKA. Par Edgar Poe.
Traduction de Charles Baudelaire.
III
1. ESSAIS DE BIBLIOGRAPHIE CONTEMPORAINE: CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. Par A.
de Fizelière et Georges Decaux. Paris, Académie des Bibliophiles, rue
de la Bourse, 10, 1868. Numéro 178.
2. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE: SA VIE ET SON ŒUVRE. Par Charles Asselineau.
Paris, Alphonse Lemerre, Editeur, Passage Choiseul, 47, 1869.
3. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE: SOUVENIRS. CORRESPONDANCES— BIBLIOGRAPHIE
—suivie de pièces inédités. Par Charles Cousin. La Bibliographie par
le Vicomte Spoelberck de Lovenjoul. Paris, Chez René Pincebourde,
14 rue de Beaume (quai Voltaire), 1872.
4. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE: ŒUVRES POSTHUMES ET CORRESPONDANCE INÉDITS
—précédée d'une Étude Biographique. Par Eugène Crépet. Paris,
Maison Quantin, Compagnie-Générale d'impression et d'Édition, 7
rue Benoît, 1887.
5. LE TOMBEAU DE CHARLES BAUDELAIRE—précédée d'une Étude sur les
Textes de les Fleurs du Mal, Commentaire et Variantes. Par le Prince
Ourousof. Paris, Bibliothèque Artistique et Littéraire (La Plume,)
1896.
6. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE (1821-1867). Par Féli Gautier. Orné de 26
Portraits différents du Poète et de 28 Gravures et Reproductions.
Bruxelles, E. Deman, 1904. Tirage à 150 Exemplaires numérotés.
Exemplaire No. 74.
7. VERSIFICATION ET MÉTRIQUE DE BAUDELAIRE. Par Albert Cassagne.
Paris, Hachette, 1906.
8. LETTRES (1841-1866) DE CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. Paris, Mercure de
France, 1908.
9. ŒUVRES POSTHUMES DE CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. Paris, Mercure de
France, 1908.
10. LE CARNET DE CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. 1911.
Publié avec une Introduction et des Notes par Féli Gautier et orné
d'un dessin inédité de Baudelaire. Paris, J. Chevrel, Libraire 29 rue
de Seine. Cette plaquette non mise dans le commerce à été tirée à
cent exemplaires sur papier velin d'arches. Numéro 27.
This petit carnot vert, which contains seven quires of twenty-four
pages—the last two have been torn out—was used by Baudelaire for
noting down certain private details, details of almost every kind,
which he began in 1861 and ended in 1864. There are lists of his
debts, of his friends, of his enemies, of his projects, of his proofs, of
his books, of his articles, of the people he has to see and to write to,
of the etchings and drawings he buys or intends to buy, of the
money he owes and of the money he is in the utmost need of. On
one page is the original text of his dedication of the "Poems on
Prose." On one page he reckons forty days in which to execute some
of his translations, his prose, and his poems. On another page he
gives a list of his hatreds, underlining Vilainies, Canailles; then his
plans for short stories and dramas. These notes are of importance.
"Faire en un an 2 vols, de Nouvelles et Mon cœur mis à nu." "Tous
les jours cinq poèmes et autre chose." Then this sinister note: "Pour
faire du neuf, quitter Paris, ou je me meurs." After this come long
lists of the women he frequents and of their addresses, such as 29
rue Neuve Bréda, 36 rue Cigalle. After this comes Swinburne's
verses, with the list of the few friends he possesses: Villiers, Noriac,
Manet, Malassis, his mother; together with Louise, Gabrielle, and
Judith.
11. LETTRES INÉDITÉS A SA MÈRE (1833-1866). Par Charles Baudelaire.
Louis Conard, Libraire Editeur, 6 Place de la Madeleine, Paris, 1918.
Numéro 182.
12. JOURNEAUX INTIMES DE CHARLES BAUDELAIRE: TEXTE INTEGRAL. Paris,
Georges Crès, 21 rue Hautefeuille, 1919.
This edition is founded on the original manuscripts of Baudelaire,
now in the possession of Gabriel Thomas.
FUSÉES. A manuscript of fifteen pages, containing twenty-two
sections numbered in red ink; the pagination is also in red ink. The
notes have, often enough, the aspect of mere fragments, scrawled
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com