The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire: with an Introductory Preface by James Huneker — John Shaqi
The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire: with an Introductory Preface by James HunekerBaudelaire, Charles
General
The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire: with an Introductory Preface by James Huneker
Baudelaire, Charles
French poetry -- Translations into English; Prose poems
In November, 1850, Maxime du Camp and Gustave Flaubert found themselves
at the French Ambassador's, Constantinople. The two friends had taken a
trip in the Orient which later bore fruit in Salammbô. General Aupick,
the representative of the French Government, cordially the young men
received; they were presented to his wife, Madame Aupick. She was the
mother of Charles Baudelaire, and inquired rather anxiously of Du Camp:
"My son has talent, has he not?" Unhappy because her second marriage, a
brilliant one, had set her son against her, the poor woman welcomed from
such a source confirmation of her eccentric boy's gifts. Du Camp tells
the much-discussed story of a quarrel between the youthful Charles and
his stepfather, a quarrel that began at table. There were guests
present. After some words Charles bounded at the General's throat and
sought to strangle him. He was promptly boxed on the ears and succumbed
to a nervous spasm. A delightful anecdote, one that fills with joy
psychiatrists in search of a theory of genius and degeneration. Charles
was given some money and put on board a ship sailing to East India. He
became a cattle-dealer in the British army, and returned to France
years afterward with a Vénus noire, to whom he addressed extravagant
poems! All this according to Du Camp. Here is another tale, a comical
one. Baudelaire visited Du Camp in Paris, and his hair was violently
green. Du Camp said nothing. Angered by this indifference, Baudelaire
asked: "You find nothing abnormal about me?" "No," was the answer. "But
my hair--it is green!" "That is not singular, mon cher Baudelaire; every
one has hair more or less green in Paris." Disappointed in not creating
a sensation, Baudelaire went to a café, gulped down two large bottles of
Burgundy, and asked the waiter to remove the water, as water was a
disagreeable sight; then he went away in a rage. It is a pity to doubt
this green hair legend; presently a man of genius will not be able to
enjoy an epileptic fit in peace--as does a banker or a beggar. We are
told that St. Paul, Mahomet, Handel, Napoleon, Flaubert, Dostoiëvsky
were epileptoids; yet we do not encounter men of this rare kind among
the inmates of asylums. Even Baudelaire had his sane moments.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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