Besides these artificial and obscure poems, there are others which are
intelligible, but which make up for it by being altogether bad, both in
form and in subject. Such are all the poems under the heading _La
Sagesse_. The chief place in these verses is occupied by a very poor
expression of the most commonplace Roman Catholic and patriotic
sentiments. For instance, one meets with verses such as this:—
_Je ne veux plus penser qu’ à ma mère Marie,
Siège de la sagesse et source de pardons,
Mère de France aussi de qui nous attendons
Inébranlablement l’honneur de la patrie._[77]
Before citing examples from other poets, I must pause to note the
amazing celebrity of these two versifiers, Baudelaire and Verlaine, who
are now accepted as being great poets. How the French, who had Chénier,
Musset, Lamartine, and, above all, Hugo,—and among whom quite recently
flourished the so-called Parnassiens: Leconte de Lisle, Sully-Prudhomme,
etc.,—could attribute such importance to these two versifiers, who were
far from skilful in form and most contemptible and commonplace in
subject-matter, is to me incomprehensible. The conception-of-life of one
of them, Baudelaire, consisted in elevating gross egotism into a theory,
and replacing morality by a cloudy conception of beauty, and especially
artificial beauty. Baudelaire had a preference, which he expressed, for
a woman’s face painted rather than showing its natural colour, and for
metal trees and a theatrical imitation of water rather than real trees
and real water.
The life-conception of the other, Verlaine, consisted in weak
profligacy, confession of his moral impotence, and, as an antidote to
that impotence, in the grossest Roman Catholic idolatry. Both, moreover,
were quite lacking in naïveté, sincerity, and simplicity, and both
overflowed with artificiality, forced originality, and self-assurance.
So that in their least bad productions one sees more of M. Baudelaire or
M. Verlaine than of what they were describing. But these two indifferent
versifiers form a school, and lead hundreds of followers after them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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