Baudelaire: His Prose and PoetryBaudelaire, Charles
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Baudelaire: His Prose and Poetry
Baudelaire, Charles
Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867; French literature -- 19th century
The Sieur Fancioulle excelled especially in parts either silent or
little burdened with words, such as are often the principal ones in
those fairy plays whose object is to represent symbolically the mystery
of life. He came upon the stage lightly and with a perfect ease, which
in itself lent some support, in the minds of the noble public, to the
idea of kindness and forgiveness.
When we say of an actor, "This is a good actor," we make use of a
formula which implies that under the personage we can still distinguish
the actor, that is to say, art, effort, will. Now, if an actor should
succeed in being, in relation to the personage whom he is appointed to
express, precisely what the finest statues of antiquity, miraculously
animated, living, walking, seeing, would be in relation to the confused
general idea of beauty, this would be, undoubtedly, a singular and
unheard of case. Fancioulle was, that evening, a perfect idealisation,
which it was impossible not to suppose living, possible, real. The
buffoon came and went, he laughed, wept, was convulsed with an
indestructible aureole about his head, an aureole invisible to all,
but visible to me, and in which were blended, in a strange amalgam,
the rays of Art and the martyr's glory. Fancioulle brought, by I know
not what special grace, something divine and supernatural into even
the most extravagant buffooneries. My pen trembles, and the tears of
an emotion which I cannot forget rise to my eyes, as I try to describe
to you this never-to-be-forgotten evening. Fancioulle proved to me,
in a peremptory, an irrefutable way, that the intoxication of Art is
surer than all others to veil the terrors of the gulf; that genius can
act a comedy on the threshold of the grave with a joy that binders it
from seeing the grave, lost, as it is, in a Paradise shutting out all
thought, of the grave and of destruction.
The whole audience, _blasé_ and frivolous as it was, soon fell
under the all-powerful sway of the artist. Not a thought was left
of death, of mourning, or of punishment. All gave themselves up,
without disquietude, to the manifold delights caused by the sight of a
masterpiece of living art. Explosions of joy and admiration again and
again shook the dome of the edifice with the energy of a continuous
thunder. The Prince himself, in an ecstasy, joined in the applause of
his court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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