Intratextual Baudelaire: The Sequential Fabric of the Fleurs du mal ...

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The OhiO STaTe UniverSiTy PreSS. COlUmbUS. Intratextual Baudelaire i. The Sequential Fabric of the Fleurs du mal and Spleen de Paris. Randolph paul ...
Intratextual Baudelaire

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Intratextual Baudelaire i The Sequential Fabric of the Fleurs du mal and Spleen de Paris

Randolph Paul Runyon

T h e O h i o S t a t e U n i v e r s i t y P r e ss C o l u m b us

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Copyright © 2010 by The Ohio State University. All rights reserved. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Runyon, Randolph, 1947– Intratextual Baudelaire : the sequential fabric of the Fleurs du mal and Spleen de Paris / Randolph Paul Runyon. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8142-1118-2 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-8142-1118-6 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-8142-9216-7 (cd-rom) 1. Baudelaire, Charles, 1821–1867. Fleurs du mal—Criticism, Textual. 2. Baudelaire, Charles, 1821–1867. Spleen de Paris—Criticism, Textual. I. Title. PQ2191.Z5R86 2010 841'.8—dc22 2009029578 This book is available in the following editions: Cloth (ISBN 978-0-8142-1118-2) CD-ROM (ISBN 978-0-8142-9216-7) Cover design by Becky Kulka and Jeff Smith. Type set in Adobe Galliard. Printed by Thomson-Shore, Inc. The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. ANSI Z39.48-1992. 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Contents

i

Introduction



1

Chapter 1

The Fabric of the First Edition: The Fleurs of 1857

Chapter 2

The Sequence Rebuilt: The Fleurs of 1861

120

Chapter 3

The “serpent tout entier”: Le Spleen de Paris

189

Appendix A

The Order of the Poems in the 1857 and 1861 Editions

263

Appendix B

The Order of the Poems in Le Spleen de Paris

269

17

Works Cited

271

Index to Baudelaire's Works

277

General Index

281

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i

Baudelaire asserted more than once that the order in which he arranged his poems was meaningful. Even before the Fleurs du mal first appeared in 1857, at a time when he was negotiating for the publication of some poems in the Revue des deux mondes, he wrote to the editor: “je tiens vivement, quels que soient les morceaux que vous choisirez, à les mettre en ordre avec vous, de manière qu’ils se fassent, pour ainsi dire, suite” [I am very anxious, whatever pieces you choose, to put them in order with you, so that they form, so to speak, a sequence]. He was at the editor’s mercy as to which poems would appear, yet he hoped to play a role in determining the order of those that did. That order did not exist before the editor’s selection but would depend on the poems he chose. Baudelaire would then engage in some bricolage in the Lévi-Straussian sense, to create something—in this case, a meaningful sequence—out of the materials on hand. “The ‘bricoleur,’” Lévi-Strauss writes, “is adept at performing a large number of diverse tasks; but, unlike the engineer, he does not subordinate each of them to obtaining the raw materials and tools conceived and procured for the purpose of the project. His universe of instruments is closed and the rules of his game are always to make do with ‘whatever is at hand.’” Commenting on this letter, F. W. Leakey writes, “the principle 1. Regarding italics in this book, I have used two different approaches. In quotations from Baudelaire’s poetic works, italics have been added for emphasis unless indicated to be present in Baudelaire’s original. For all other sources, italics can be presumed to be original unless otherwise noted. 2. In a letter to Victor de Mars on April 7, 1855. Charles Baudelaire, Correspondance, 2 vols., ed. Claude Pichois and Jean Ziegler (Paris: Gallimard/Pléiade, 1973), I: 312 (hereafter cited in text as Corr. I or II; translations are my own unless otherwise noted). Eventually eighteen poems were published in the Revue des deux mondes on June 1, 1855. 3. Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Savage Mind, trans. John Weightman and Doreen Weight-



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Baudelaire sought to adopt in the arrangement of these poems—that of sequence, with one poem leading smoothly into the next . . . is one that he was able eventually to follow in his own distribution of his poems in the complete editions of 1857 and 1861.” Baudelaire displayed the same concern for arrangement in the months preceding the publication of the Fleurs du mal, telling his publisher he hoped that together “Nous pourrons disposer ensemble l’ordre des matières des Fleurs du mal,—ensemble, entendez-vous, car la question est importante” [We will be able to arrange together the order of the material of the Fleurs du mal—together, you understand, for the question is important] (Corr. I: 364). When Baudelaire was subjected to prosecution in 1857, when the Fleurs du mal were deemed an offense to public morals, he prepared notes for his lawyer in which he called his book “ce parfait ensemble” [this perfect whole]. The prosecutor was threatening to have some of the poems removed—and eventually six were. Baudelaire wanted his lawyer to argue that the collection was itself a work of art that would be destroyed if any part of it were taken away. On Baudelaire’s invitation, and to some undetermined extent with his collusion, his friend Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly wrote a defense of the book: If quoted, a poem would have only its individual value, and make no mistake, in Baudelaire’s book each poem has, in addition to the success of its details or the glory of its thought, a very important value with respect to the whole and to its location there [une valeur très importante d’ensemble et de situation] that must not be lost by detaching it. Artists who can see the lines beneath the luxurious efflorescence of color will clearly see that there is a secret architecture [une architecture secrète] here, a plan calculated by the poet, premeditated and intentional. Les Fleurs du mal are not lined up one after the other like just so many lyrical pieces, produced by inspiration, and gathered into a collection for no other reason than to bring them together. They are not so much poems as a poetic work of the strongest unity. From the standpoint of Art and aesthetic perception they would therefore lose a great deal by not being read in the order in which the poet, man (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), 17; corresponds to p. 27 of La Pensée sauvage (Paris: Plon, 1962). Margery Evans, in Baudelaire and Intertextuality: Poetry at the Crossroads (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), suggests the relevance of the concept of bricolage to the structure of Le Spleen de Paris (p. 3); I will argue that it is equally pertinent to that of Les Fleurs du mal. 4. F. W. Leakey, Baudelaire: Les Fleurs du Mal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 5, hereafter cited in text as FM Leakey. 5. Charles Baudelaire, Œuvres complètes, 2 vols., ed. Claude Pichois (Paris: Gallimard/ Pléiade, 1975–76), I: 194; hereafter cited in text as OC I or II.



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Introduction

who well knows what he is doing, has arranged them. But they would lose even more from the point of view of the moral effect of which we earlier spoke. (OC I: 1196)

How much of Barbey’s statement reflected Baudelaire’s own thoughts cannot be determined. But we know that the poet approved of it enough to include it among the Articles justitatifs of which he had two hundred copies printed before his trial. The italics, Marcel Françon suggests, may be Baudelaire’s own. And even though Barbey’s remarks, and Baudelaire’s approval of them, were motivated by the need to deflect the prosecution’s attack, what Barbey wrote about the value the poems have by virtue of their “situation,” about what they would lose by not being read in the order Baudelaire gave them, and his assertion that the Fleurs are not so much poems in the plural as a single poetic work are consonant with Baudelaire’s concern, before and long after the prosecution, for the order in which his poems appear. Four years later, when the second edition appeared, minus the six offending poems but containing thirty-five new poems and a significant rearrangement of those retained, Baudelaire sent a copy to Alfred de Vigny and wrote, “Le seul éloge que je sollicite pour ce livre est qu’on reconnaisse qu’il n’est pas un pur album et qu’il a un commencement et une fin. Tous les poèmes nouveaux ont été faits pour être adaptés au cadre singulier que j’avais choisi” [The only praise I solicit for this book is that one recognize that it is not a mere album, and that it has a beginning and an end. All the new poems were written to be adapted to the distinctive framework I had chosen] (Corr. II: 196). Leakey explains: “Not a mere album” because, as in 1857, the poems had been carefully grouped, and their presentation meticulously planned in their relation one to another; “a beginning and an end,” because the book opens, in Bénédiction, with the narration of a generic poet’s birth, and closes, in Le Voyage, with the vision of a death . . . which yet promises rebirth into the new. And when Baudelaire goes on, in his second sentence, to say that the new poems have been written expressly to be adapted to the “distinctive framework” he has chosen, what he here has in mind, of course, is not some overall, collective “message” supposedly conveyed by the book as a whole (this is the “architectural” fallacy first propounded in 1857 by Barbey d’Aurevilly, though never by Baudelaire himself), but rather the careful groupings and sequences he is here modifying from the first edition. (FM Leakey, 13) 6. Marcel Françon, “[L]unité des Fleurs du mal,” PMLA 60, no. 4 (December 1945): 1130n1.



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Leakey somehow understood Barbey’s saying the book had a “secret architecture” to mean that it conveyed a moral message. Barbey speaks elsewhere in the article of such a message: “punishment after the crime, illness after overindulgence, remorse, sadness, ennui, all the shames and pains that degrade and devour us for having transgressed against” the laws of divine Providence (OC I, 1192). The connection Leakey saw between architecture and message may lie in the way in which Barbey understood Baudelaire’s assertion (expressed in his notes for his lawyer and that he doubtless communicated to Barbey) that “À une blasphème, j’opposerai des élancements vers le Ciel, à une obscénité, des fleurs platoniques” [To a blasphemy I will oppose aspirations to heaven, to an obscenity platonic flowers] (OC I: 195). Perhaps the architecture Leakey thought Barbey had in mind consisted of such opposing forces, as a flying buttress counterbalances the Gothic cathedral’s vault. But Leakey also believed that Barbey “wrongly conflated two independent statements of the poet’s” in his assertion that “the book could only properly be understood in terms of its ‘secret architecture’—that is, from the supposed total message that emerges from a consecutive reading. . . . But this whole moral defence of Baudelaire’s was in any case soon to be discarded; we hear no more of it after 1857, though what does remain with him is his abiding concern for the presentation of his poems—for their careful grouping by themes and their sequential relation one with another” (FM Leakey, 11). It seems that Leakey may be the one conflating, if the two independent statements Baudelaire made were that aspirations to heaven will counterbalance blasphemies and that the book has a secret architecture—conflating Barbey’s saying there is a secret architecture with his saying, elsewhere in the article, that punishments counterbalance crimes. But it should be clear from the last sentence of the paragraph where Barbey speaks of a secret architecture—“But they would lose even more from the point of view of the moral effect of which we spoke at the beginning of this article”—that the “moral effect” is a consideration quite other than that of the order in which the poems appear. This is not the only passage in the article where Barbey speaks of architecture. A few pages earlier, noting that in his dedication to the Fleurs du mal Baudelaire salutes Gautier as a disciple saluting his master, Barbey places him in the latter’s Parnassian school, as “one of those refined and ambitious materialists who can conceive of only one kind of perfection— material perfection” (OC I: 1194). The language of the Fleurs is “more plastic even than poetic, crafted and chiseled like bronze and stone, and where the sentence has volutes and grooves—imagine something out of flowered Gothic or Moorish architecture [quelque chose du gothique fleuri



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Introduction

ou de l’architecture moresque]” (OC I: 1194–95; italics added). No overall plan here (and no flying buttresses of the Moorish variety), just a focus on detail. And even when Barbey goes on to speak of “the lines beneath the luxurious efflorescence” and of “a secret architecture, a plan calculated by the poet, premeditated and intentional,” that plan may not necessarily be the “supposed total message that emerges from a consecutive reading,” as Leakey thought, but something else that becomes apparent from a careful consecutive reading: the plan behind “the presentation of his poems . . . their careful grouping by themes and their sequential relation one with another,” as Leakey—I think correctly—saw. Like Leakey, Claude Pichois rejected the notion of an explanatory secret architecture (he said it would be like trying to explain Nerval by tarot cards), yet he seconded Barbey’s assertion that the Fleurs du mal was a highly unified work: “How can one not recognize with Barbey that the Fleurs are ‘not so much poems as a poetic work of the strongest unity’; a book and not a collection? A book . . . whose framework was as much secreted by the poems already composed as it was the source from which others arose. A book whose poems sometimes combine into ‘cycles,’ while others take on a situational value”—une valeur de situation, echoing Barbey’s phrase—“due to association or contrast, as well as to mere juxtaposition” (OC I: 799). The juxtapositions, mere as they may seem, are not haphazard but planned by the poet whom Barbey called “an artist of will, of reflection, and above all of combination [et de combinaison avant tout]” (OC I: 1193; italics added). It is how Baudelaire combines his poems that will be the focus of this study. Baudelaire gives us a precious insight into what he valued in a poetic work in an essay on what might at first seem a wholly other topic, the operas of Richard Wagner. After quoting Franz Liszt saying “even if the music of this opera were deprived of its beautiful words, it would still be a production of the first rank,” he comments: En effet, sans poésie, la musique de Wagner serait encore une œuvre poétique, étant douée de toutes les qualités qui constituent une poésie bien faite; explicative par elle-même, tant toutes choses y sont bien unies, conjointes, réciproquement adaptées, et, s’il est permis de faire un barbarisme pour exprimer le superlatif d’une qualité, prudemment concaténées. [Indeed, without poetry, Wagner’s music would still be a poetic work, since

it is endowed with all the qualities that constitute well-made poetry: selfexplanatory, for all things there are so well united, conjoined, recipro-



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Introduction

cally adapted, and—if it is permissible to create a barbarism to express the superlative of a quality—prudently concatenated.] (“Richard Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris,” OC II: 803)

Bescherelle’s Dictionnaire universel, published in 1856 and thus contemporary with Baudelaire, defines “concaténation” (from the Latin cum [with] and catena [chain]) as “Enchaînement, liaison” [Chain, link] and as a rhetorical figure “that consists in picking up some words from the first part to begin the second, and thus tie in succession all the parts together, up until the last.” Baudelaire is alluding to Wagner’s leitmotif compositional technique; elsewhere in the essay he alludes to “certaines phrases mélodiques dont le retour assidu, dans différents morceaux tirés de la même œuvre, avait vivement intrigué mon oreille” [certain melodic phrases whose persistent return, in different parts of the same work, had acutely intrigued my ear] (OC II: 801). Baudelaire quotes Liszt as saying that traditional opera is like a collection of poems in which there is no particular connection between one poem and the next: “une série de chants rarement apparentés entre eux” [a series of songs rarely related to each other] (OC II: 802), but Wagner makes greater demands on the listener’s ability to concentrate and remember: “forçant notre méditation et notre mémoire à un si constant exercice, [il] arrache, par cela seul, l’action de la musique au domaine des vagues attendrissements et ajoute à ses charmes quelques-uns des plaisirs de l’esprit” [compelling our meditation and memory to such constant exercise, by that alone he tears music’s effect away from the realm of vague sentiments and to its charms adds some of the pleasures of the mind] (Liszt, quoted in ibid.). I intend to show in this study of Baudelaire’s poetic collections, the Fleurs du mal and the Spleen de Paris, that he makes the same demands on his readers and offers them equivalent rewards. It is not the leitmotif technique itself, however, that distinguishes Baudelaire from other poets, for that finds a ready equivalent in the network of associations that are part of any poet’s personal language (such as the association between the sun and the father that Michel Quesnel finds in Baudelaire). Rather, it is something Baudelaire hints at in making a place for concatenation in his definition of a well-made poetic work. The poems in the Fleurs du mal and the Spleen de Paris are, as I intend to show, concatenated in the sense that 7. Louis-Nicolas Bescherelle, Dictionnaire universel de la langue française (Paris: Garnier frères, 1856). All definitions from Bescherelle given in this book come from this edition and will hereafter not be cited. 8. Michel Quesnel, Baudelaire solaire et clandestin (Paris: PUF, 1987), hereafter cited in text.



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they are connected as links in a chain. As Leakey insisted, one telling aspect of their presentation is “their sequential relation one with another.” That sequential relation is their concatenation. Baudelaire applies the term to Poe as well: “Dans les livres d’Edgar Poe, le style est serré, concaténé; la mauvaise volonté du lecteur ou sa paresse ne pourront pas passer à travers les mailles de ce réseau tressé par la logique. Toutes les idées, comme des flèches obéissantes, volent au même but” [In the books of Edgar Poe, the style is closely woven, concatenated; neither the reader’s recalcitrant will nor his laziness can pass through the meshes of this net woven by logic. All the ideas, like obedient arrows, fly to the same target] (OC II: 283). Poe’s concatenation creates a net, but it also works by enchaînement, as Baudelaire points out in describing how Auguste Dupin solved the mystery of “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”: Entre une parole et une autre, entre deux idées tout à fait étrangères en apparence, il peut rétablir la lacune des idées non exprimées et presque inconscientes. Il a étudié profondément tous les possibles et tous les enchaînements probables des faits. Il remonte d’induction en induction, et arrive à démontrer péremptoirement que c’est un singe qui a fait le crime. [Between one word and another, between two ideas that appear to have

nothing in common, he can restore the lacuna of unexpressed and nearly unconscious ideas. He made a deep study of every possible and every likely chain of events deducible from the facts. He moves from induction to induction, and succeeds in irrefutably proving that it was an ape that committed the crime.] (OC II: 276; italics added)

Baudelaire invites the reader of the Fleurs du mal and the Spleen de Paris to do the same: to find connections between words, between two ideas that at first seem total strangers to each other, between one poem and the next in the chain he has prepared. So it is not the secret architecture—a term of which we have no proof that it was Baudelaire’s way of describing his work—but the hidden fabric we will see uncovered here. It has remained hidden simply because few have thought it worth pursuing. The hunt for a secret architecture, whether based on a hidden message or on Baudelaire’s having divided the Fleurs into chapters (“Spleen et Idéal,” “Tableaux parisiens,” “Le Vin,” “Fleurs du mal,” “Révolte,” “La Mort”) or into subgroups according to mistress, or because it roughly moves from birth to death, has proved more alluring. The term “fabric” is appropriate whether we focus on the text as textile—as does, for example, Barbara Wright: “the work was conceived 

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Introduction

as an integral whole, with interconnecting strands”—or the text as edifice, as Baudelaire hints at having done in the poem that completes his last organized sequence, where he writes “la maçonnerie est achevée” [the masonry is finished] (“Les Bons Chiens,” in Le Spleen de Paris, OC I: 362). We will be focusing on the masonry of what Baudelaire built, how the stones are put together, each to each. Lévi-Strauss’s distinction between bricolage and engineering is relevant here: Baudelaire did not design the Fleurs du mal from scratch, as would an engineer, but in many instances made use of poems he had written years before. In the second edition, he certainly worked for the most part with the material already at hand, the poems from 1857, rearranging and altering what was left after the six were removed and he added new ones. We will study those changes in detail, as well as those made to the texts that would go into the Spleen de Paris. What we will examine is Baudelaire as mason, not as architect; as bricoleur, not engineer. Baudelaire built three such structures, the Fleurs du mal of 1857, the Fleurs du mal of 1861, and the Spleen de Paris, published posthumously in 1869 on the basis of a table of contents he drew up shortly before his death. The 1861 version of Fleurs has received the lion’s share of attention over the years, partly because of the memorable new poems it contains and partly because of a respect for the poet’s last complete expression. But the 1857 volume is a magnificent creation in its own right, and of the two it is the only one unsullied by external considerations, since Baudelaire was not able to reintegrate into the 1861 sequence the six poems the censor removed. I will bypass the long-standing controversy of whether one sequence is more worth our attention than the other by paying thorough attention to both. I will try to show why Baudelaire arranged the first edition as he did, and I will consider every change he made in 1861, changes that go far beyond the deletion of old poems and the addition of new ones. Baudelaire made a myriad of textual changes in the poems carried over from 1857, altering them so that they would fit into the new sequence. I will examine those changes in detail. In his study of the 1861 Fleurs du mal James Lawler finds that the order is important, but instead of seeing each poem as an element in the sequence, he believes that Baudelaire arranged them in alternating groups of fives and threes, each group expressing a particular theme. Thus “L’Aube spirituelle,” “Harmonie du soir,” and “Le Flacon” (poems 46–48) form a group “devoted to memory”; Lawler states, “in response to the presencein-absence of memory” in these three “we find the absence-in-presence 9. Barbara Wright, “Baudelaire’s Poetic Journey in Les Fleurs du Mal,” in The Cambridge Companion to Baudelaire, ed. Rosemary Lloyd (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 31.



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Introduction

of imagination” in “Le Poison,” “Ciel brouillé,” “Le Chat,” “Le Beau Navire,” and “L’Invitation au voyage” (poems 49–53).10 But to place “Le Flacon” in one group and “Le Poison” in another is to miss seeing that the poison so prominent in the latter is related to the poison in the last two lines of the former, the “Cher poison . . . / Qui me ronge, ô la vie et la mort de mon cœur!” [Dear poison . . . / That eats at me, O life and death of my heart!] (ll. 27–28). As Antoine Adam remarks, “If we want to know why he calls [his love for Madame Sabatier] a poison” at the end of “Le Flacon,” “we only have to read the poem that immediately follows this one. For the connection between the two is evident, and the second comments on the last lines of the first.”11 J. A. Hiddleston suggests that in Lawler’s approach “there are moments when one feels that the patterning could have gone in a different direction, moments where there is more than a hint of procrustianism” that “can lead to reductionism, since ‘Le Serpent qui danse’ is not about coldness (though of course everyone knows that snakes are cold-blooded), but about light, sensuality, movement and much more.”12 Lawler does not explain why he thinks Baudelaire arranged the collection by fives and threes. Why not sixes and sevens—or why not, more simply, see each single poem as capable of interacting, as he argues that his groups interact, with the poem before and the poem after? Mario Richter’s “lecture intégrale” of the 1861 Fleurs du mal comes closer than Lawler’s to anticipating my own. He reads the collection poem by poem, noting many of the connections linking each to each. “What interests me above all,” he writes, “is to follow the discourse that develops in the Fleurs du mal, the reason for which the poems have been arranged in the order that is theirs and not in another.”13 But it never seems to have occurred to Richter to consider why the poems were arranged in the order they were in the first place, which is to say, in the 1857 edition. For him it is as if the first edition never existed, and this leads him to the astounding error of asserting that the other person implied in the “Notre” [Our] in the line “Notre blanche maison, petite mais tranquille” [Our white house, small but tranquil] of the poem “Je n’ai pas oublié, voisine de la ville . . . ” must be the woman who figures in the immediately preceding poem “L’Amour du mensonge” (Richter, 1149). But that poem precedes it only in 1861; “L’Amour du mensonge” does not appear in the 1857 sequence, though 10. James Lawler, Poetry and Moral Dialectic: Baudelaire’s “Secret Architecture” (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1997), 82, 84; hereafter cited in text as Lawler 1997. 11. Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du mal, ed. Antoine Adam (Paris: Garnier, 1961), 333 (hereafter cited in text as FM Adam). 12. See Hiddleston’s review of Lawler’s book, in French Studies 54, no. 1 (2000): 99. 13. Mario Richter, Baudelaire: Les Fleurs du mal: Lecture intégrale (Geneva: Slatkine, 2001), 13–14, hereafter cited in text.



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“Je n’ai pas oublié . . . ” does. How could the meaning of “Notre” change in the interim? I agree with Richter that the poems can best be understood with reference to poems immediately before and after them, but if we adopt that approach we must consider what they first meant when the poems on either side may have been different ones. I do not share his assumption, however, that a character in one poem must be identical to a similar or related character in the next. The poems are not continuous in the manner of succeeding paragraphs or chapters in a novel. Rather, each poem repeats elements of the poem before in what is almost always a completely different context. The poems play off each other in pairs by virtue of the resulting discrepancy, indeed quite often an ensuing opposition, between how the repeated element functions in one context and how it functions in the other. It is like the irony of a pun—or of the clever rhyming of two words with an interesting relation to each other. One interesting exception, however, to the rule that no character (apart from the same mistress to which two neighboring poems may allude) is identical in one poem and the next occurs in the conjunction of “Les Deux Bonnes Sœurs” (1857: 83; 1861: 11214) and “La Fontaine de sang” (1857: 84; 1861: 113): in the latter, “ces cruelles filles,” as both Adam and Pichois remark, can only be understood by imagining that the narrator is referring to the two sisters of the preceding poem. Lawler does not quite neglect the 1857 order. He devotes three pages to it in an appendix, again finding fives and threes throughout, except for a stretch of threes only from “La Destruction” to “Les Litanies de Satan.” The two poems, however, that Baudelaire singled out in a letter to his mother as belonging together because both allude to their life together after the death of his father and before her remarriage—“La servante au grand cœur . . . ” (1857: 69; 1861: 100) and “Je n’ai pas oublié, voisine de la ville . . . ” (1857: 70; 1861: 99), which he kept together in the second edition even while reversing their order—fall in the same group of three in Lawler’s reading of the second edition (1997, 132) but not in his version of the first, in which “La servante au grand cœur . . . ” falls into the group characterized by “compassionate identification with figures of the city” and “Je n’ai pas oublié, voisine de la ville . . . ” into the group whose unifying theme is “regret” (183). This despite the nonurban setting of “La servante au grand cœur . . . ,” the same little white house outside of the city (“voisine de la ville”) where “Je n’ai pas oublié” takes place, and the regret that permeates both. Lawler admits, “It is not that any one of the pieces cannot be displaced—Baudelaire will move a good number of them

14. These numbers indicate the poem’s place in the order of the indicated edition.

10

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in the second edition—since clearly they can have more than one meaning and more than one context, while the wording will on occasion, especially in the tercets of the sonnets, be modified to fit the argument. However, by the positions they come to occupy, they receive individual colorings, particular emphases, dialectical functions” (ibid.) But doesn’t this come close to admitting that the meanings he (Lawler) assigns them come from the groups to which he also assigns them? In any event, Lawler’s system is based on common themes within his groups, while my approach is independent of themes. I do not focus on common themes between neighboring poems, and to the extent that they exist, I find them too weak to be of interest. I am interested in what is paradoxically the same between neighboring poems despite their having no common theme worth talking about. I will show that the fifty prose poems in the Spleen de Paris are organized the same way—that as Baudelaire on many occasions said, they form a “pendant” to the Fleurs du mal. I think he meant this in the sense in which Littré gives the word: “Il se dit de deux objets d’art à peu près pareils, et destinés à figurer ensemble en se correspondant” [It is said of two objects approximately alike, destined to appear together in a corresponding relation].15 Two circumstances have deterred most readers from seeing how true this is: (1) the absence of section headings like those in the Fleurs (“Spleen et Idéal,” “Tableaux parisiens”) and (2) the letter Baudelaire wrote Arsène Houssaye, who published the first twenty of the prose poems, in which he appears to give him carte blanche to cut the sequence at any point. I will address the letter, which was never intended by Baudelaire to serve as a preface to the book,16 in my chapter on the Spleen; as for the absence of section headings, while they may be relevant to an approach to the Fleurs based on claims of a “secret architecture” that involves classifying the poems by theme, those headings are irrelevant to the sequential structure I uncover there, which continues without a break from the last poem of every section to the first poem of the next, and which is exactly the same kind of structure uniting the poems in prose. Max Milner writes, “It would be futile . . . to seek in Le Spleen de Paris the type of architecture that characterizes Les Fleurs du mal. . . . Is that to 15. Émile Littré, Dictionnaire de la langue française (Paris: Hachette, 1877). Available at http://françois.gannez.free.fr./Littre. 16. Max Milner reminds us that Baudelaire “left, with a view to their publication in a volume, a table of contents whose order . . . was scrupulously followed” by Charles Asselineau and Théodore de Banville when they edited the prose poems’ first collective publication in 1869, two years after the poet’s death, “except for the letter to Arsène Houssaye and an ‘Épilogue,’ which they appear to have added on their own initiative.” Max Milner, “Introduction” to Baudelaire, Le Spleen de Paris (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1979), 22, hereafter cited in text.

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say that it is forbidden to look there for some other type of unity?” (24). A. W. Raitt suggests that the absence of the headings found in the Fleurs does not preclude the presence of other connections, less visible no doubt and, to use Baudelaire’s own term, more tortuous, but still with some possible structural significance. One may even wonder whether the Dédicace to Houssaye does not itself contain an enigmatic hint at what these connections may be. “Tout . . . y est à la fois tête et queue, alternativement et réciproquement” [Everything . . . there is at the same time head and tail, alternatively and reciprocally]: what does that mean if not that each poem is a tail to the one that precedes it and a head to the one that follows it?17

Raitt goes on to point out that Fritz Nies put forward that argument in 1964 in a detailed study of Le Spleen de Paris to which few scholars have paid any attention.18 According to Nies, there is “some element always linking each poem with the one before it and the one after it” (Raitt, 160). Raitt cites four instances from Nies, common elements linking poems 12 (“Les Foules”) with 13 (“Les Veuves”) (in 13, the narrator explicitly refers to what he was just saying in 12: “comme je l’insinuais tout à l’heure” [as I was insinuating a moment ago], 14 (“Le Vieux Saltimbanque”) with 15 (“Le Gâteau”) (poverty), 24 (“Les Projets”) with 25 (“La Belle Dorothée”) (a cabin by a tropical sea), and 34 (“Déjà!”) with 35 (“Les Fenêtres”) (the echoing phrases “qui ont vécu, qui vivent et qui vivront” [who have lived, who live, and who will live] and “vit la vie, rêve la vie, souffre la vie” [life lives, life dreams, life suffers]). In a reply to Raitt, J. A. Hiddleston objects, “But if Baudelaire had intended such patterning, it is very unlikely that he would have encouraged Houssaye to upset it.”19 Well, that is precisely the point. Such linkages as Nies brings to light put the lie to the notion that Baudelaire seriously meant that the reader (as distinguished from Houssaye, the editor he hoped would publish at least some of his poems) could cut up the collection and read its pieces in any order he pleased. As it happens, poems 34 and 35, one of the examples Hiddleston cites from Raitt, were not even among the poems Baudelaire sent Houssaye. It is somewhat surprising that Hiddleston dismisses Nies’s approach on the basis alone of Raitt’s four examples without giving us an account what Nies himself wrote. But Nies succeeds in finding some expression or 17. A. W. Raitt, “On Le Spleen de Paris,” Nineteenth-Century French Studies 18, nos. 1–2 (1989–90): 159, hereafter cited in text. 18. Fritz Nies, Poesie in prosaischer Welt. Untersuchungen zum Prosagedicht bei Aloysius Bertrand und Baudelaire (Heidelberg: Winter, 1964), hereafter cited in text. 19. J. A. Hiddleston, “Chacun son Spleen: Some Observations on Baudelaire’s Prose Poems,” Modern Language Review 86, no. 1 (January 1991): 68.

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motif at virtually every point in the sequence, for example, the perfumes that figure in both poems 7 “(Le Fou et la Vénus”) and 8 (“Le Chien et le flacon”), the “lac immobile” in 15 (“Le Gâteau”) and the “heure immobile” in 16 (“L’Horloge”), and the woman “bien éventée, fumant” [well fanned, smoking] in 24 (“Les Projets”) and the woman who takes pleasure “à fumer, à se faire éventer” [in smoking, in being fanned] in 25 (“La Belle Dorothée”) (Nies, 279–80). Recalling that Baudelaire once described the Spleen de Paris to Sainte-Beuve as a “flânerie” [stroll] (Corr. II: 583), Nies says of his list of connections that they “do not point to some overarching architecture with subdivisions, for they come about through the free movement of the poetic imagination, which will unexpectedly take up in its flânerie some word or sentence, some motif or subject that it met on its way in the preceding poem, around which it will begin a new intellectual flânerie, composing another poem” (Nies, 283). This is precisely what I intend to show, that each successive poem borrows some word, phrase, or motif from its immediate predecessor and gives it a new context, as if the second poem were composed around this borrowed element. Edward K. Kaplan argues that the Spleen de Paris “is not a random assemblage of melodic rhapsodies, but a coherent ensemble,” and that it engages in a “textual exegesis based on a sequential reading.”20 While he does take up each poem in the order Baudelaire gave them, he does not always find connections between them. Yet he does find quite a few, and I often enter into conversation and debate with him in my chapter on the prose poems, as I do with Lawler and Richter in reading Les Fleurs du mal. In the conclusion to Poetry and Moral Dialectic Lawler analyzes the first ten of the prose poems, and in “The Prose Poem as Art of Anticlimax”21 he takes up the rest. “I would suggest,” he writes, “that the prose poems are not fortuitously placed but obey the simplest of patterns . . . abrupt twos in which one text plays directly off the other by a sudden turn of the screw or a twist of the kaleidoscope (the two images are Baudelaire’s). Tail answers head, head answers tail” (Lawler 1997, 176–77). But he does not read them as do Nies, Kaplan, or myself, seeing each as having something in common with its predecessor—2 with 1, 3 with 2, 4 with 3. Instead, he reads them in discrete pairs: 2 with 1, 4 with 3, 6 with 5, and so forth— seeing twenty-five pairs instead of forty-nine, and not noticing the remarkable ways in which every poem from the second to the forty-ninth is in a Janus-like double relation, looking both behind to the poem before and 20. Edward K. Kaplan, Baudelaire’s Prose Poems: The Esthetic, the Ethical, and the Religious in The Parisian Prowler (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1990), ix, xi (hereafter cited in text as Kaplan 1990). 21. James Lawler, “The Prose Poem as Art of Anticlimax: Baudelaire’s ‘Kaléidoscope.’” Australian Journal of French Studies 36, no. 3 (1999): 327–38.

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ahead to the one to follow. Each poem is thus both head and tail. My aim in this study is to demonstrate to a degree not yet seen the artfulness with which Baudelaire assembled his poems. I believe this aspect of his work is part of what he meant by the “rhétorique profonde” that he imagined some would already know or guess and that others would never understand: Mon éditeur prétend qu’il y aurait quelque utilité . . . à expliquer pourquoi et comment j’ai fait ce livre, quels ont été mon but et mes moyens, mon dessein et ma méthode. Un tel travail de critique aurait sans doute quelques chances d’amuser les esprits amoureux de la rhétorique profonde. . . . Mais, à un meilleur examen, ne paraît-il pas évident que ce serait là une besogne tout à fait superflue, pour les uns comme pour les autres, puisque les uns savent ou devinent, et que les autres ne comprendront jamais?. . . . Mènet-on la foule dans les ateliers de l’habilleuse et du décorateur, dans la loge de la comédienne? Montre-t-on au public affolé aujourd’hui, indifférent demain, le mécanisme des trucs? Lui explique-t-on les retouches et les variantes . . . ? Lui révèle-t-on toutes les loques, les fards, les poulies, les chaînes, les repentirs, les épreuves barbouillées, bref toutes les horreurs qui composent le sanctuaire de l’art? [My editor claims that there might be some utility . . . in explaining why and how I made this book, what were my end and my means, my plan and my method. Such a critical endeavor would no doubt have some chance of amusing minds in love with deep rhetoric. . . . But, on closer examination, does it not appear evident that this would be a completely superfluous task, for some as well as others, since some will know or guess and the others will never understand? . . . Does one bring the crowd into the costumer’s and designer’s workshops, into the actress’s dressing room? Does one show the mechanics of illusion to the public thrilled today, indifferent tomorrow? Does one explain to them alterations and variants . . . ? Does one reveal to them all the rags, the makeup, the pulleys, the chains, the touch-ups, the marked-up proof sheets—in sum, all the horrors that compose the temple of art?] (“Projet de préface pour Les Fleurs du mal,” OC I : 185)

I present this visit behind the scenes in the hope that Baudelaire was wrong to think that those who did not already see would never understand. I call what Baudelaire does intratextual (as opposed to intertextual) because it takes place within his own text. It does, that is, if we consider the Fleurs du mal or the Spleen de Paris a single text, as opposed to merely a collection of different texts whose interrelationships could be characterized as intertextual. Collections—whether of poems, short stories, essays, or the 14

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letters of an epistolary novel—are potentially intratextual, and in fact quite a few live up to that potential, as I have elsewhere argued: Montaigne’s Essais, La Fontaine’s Fables and Contes, Montesquieu’s Lettres persanes, Robert Penn Warren’s poetic collections and his volume of short stories, and Raymond Carver’s short story and poetry collections.22 In my book on Carver I called intratextuality “what can happen when the texts in a text (poems or stories in an intelligently assembled sequence) begin to refer to each other in ways that seem to refer to their doing so.”23 That may have been too restrictive a definition, since we do not require that intertextuality always have that self-referential aspect. Yet intratextuality in Baudelaire does sometimes feature such mises en abyme: the recycling of debris as both motif and practice in “À une petite mendiante rousse” and “Le Cygne” and again in “Le Vin des chiffonniers”; the multiple images of the same thing in “Le Cygne” and “Les Sept Vieillards”; the enclosure-penetrating perfumes in “Harmonie du soir” and “Le Flacon”; the cadavres in the side-by-side poems “Le Vampire” and “Une nuit que j’étais . . . ,” alluded to in the latter in “Comme au long d’un cadavre un cadavre étendu”; the twins whose struggle over a piece of bread in “Le Gâteau” results in its disappearance (a mise en abyme of the way in which any two neighboring poems claim possession of the same words and motifs, resulting in the disappearance of the meaning we originally thought they had); the self-reflecting mirrors in “La Belle Dorothée” and “Les Yeux des pauvres”; or the emblem in “Le Thyrse”: “qui osera décider si les fleurs et les pampres ont été faits pour le bâton, ou si le bâton n’est que le prétexte pour montrer la beauté des pampres et des fleurs?” [who will dare decide if the flowers and the vines were made for the staff, or if the staff is but the pretext for showing the beauty of the vines and the flowers?]. Who can decide of two neighboring and interrelated poems which was made for the other?

22. I list these in the Works Cited. 23. Randolph Paul Runyon, Reading Raymond Carver (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1992), 9.

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Appendix A

The Order of the Poems in the 1857 and 1861 Editions i

1857 Au Lecteur 1. Bénédiction 2. Le Soleil (1861: 87) 3. Élévation 4. Correspondances 5. J’aime le souvenir . . .  6. Les Phares 7. La Muse malade 8. La Muse vénale 9. Le Mauvais Moine 10. L’Ennemi 11. Le Guignon 12. La Vie antérieure 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

1861 Au Lecteur 1. Bénédiction 2. L’Albatros 3. Élévation 4. Correspondances 5. J’aime le souvenir . . .  6. Les Phares 7.La Muse malade 8. La Muse vénale 9. Le Mauvais Moine 10. L’Ennemi 11. Le Guignon 12. La Vie antérieure 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. Le Masque 21. Hymne à la beauté 263

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21. Parfum exotique 22. Parfum exotique 23. La Chevelure 22. Je t´adore . . .  24. Je t´adore . . .  23. Tu mettrais l´univers . . .  25. Tu mettrais l´univers . . .  24. Sed non satiata 26. Sed non satiata 25. Avec ses vêtements . . .  27. Avec ses vêtements . . .  26. Le Serpent qui danse 28. Le Serpent qui danse 27. Une charogne 29. Une charogne 28. De profundis clamavi 30. De profundis clamavi 29. Le Vampire 31. Le Vampire 30. Le Léthé 31. Une nuit que j´étais . . .  32. Une nuit que j´étais . . .  32. Remords posthume 33. Remords posthume 33. Le Chat: Viens . . .  34. Le Chat: Viens . . .  35. Duellum 34. Le Balcon 36. Le Balcon 37. Le Possédé 38. Un fantôme I. Les Ténèbres II. Le Parfum III. Le Cadre IV. Le Portrait 35. Je te donne ces vers . . .  39. Je te donne ces vers . . .  40. Semper eadem 36. Tout entière 41. Tout entière 37. Que diras-tu ce soir . . .  42. Que diras-tu ce soir . . .  38. Le Flambeau vivant 43. Le Flambeau vivant 39. À celle qui est trop gaie 40. Réversibilité 44. Réversibilité 41. Confession 45. Confession 42. L’Aube spirituelle 46. L’Aube spirituelle 43. Harmonie du soir 47. Harmonie du soir 44. Le Flacon 48. Le Flacon 45. Le Poison 49. Le Poison 46. Ciel brouillé 50. Ciel brouillé 47. Le Chat: Dans ma cervelle . . .  51. Le Chat: Dans ma cervelle . . .  48. Le Beau Navire 52. Le Beau Navire 49. L’Invitation au voyage 53. L’Invitation au voyage 50. L’Irréparable 54. L’Irréparable 51. Causerie 55. Causerie 56. Chant d’automne 264

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52. L’Héautontimoroumenos (1861: 83) 53. Franciscae meae laudes 54. À une dame créole 55. Moesta et errabunda 56. Les Chats 57. Les Hiboux 58. La Cloche fêlée 59. Spleen: Pluviôse, irrité . . .  60. Spleen: J´ai plus de souvenirs . . .  61. Spleen: Je suis comme le roi . . .  62. Spleen: Quand le ciel . . .  63. Brumes et pluies (1861: 101) 64. L’Irrémédiable 65. À une mendiante rousse

57. À une Madone 58. Chanson d’après-midi 59. Sisina 60. Franciscae meae laudes 61. À une dame créole 62. Moesta et errabunda 63. Le Revenant (1857: 72) 64. Sonnet d’automne 65. Tristesses de la lune (1857: 75) 66. Les Chats 67. Les Hiboux 68. La Pipe (1857: 77) 69. La Musique (1857: 76) 70. Sépulture (1857: 74) 71. Une gravure fantastique 72. Le Mort joyeux (1857: 73) 73. Le Tonneau de la Haine (1857: 71) 74. La Cloche fêlée 75. Spleen: Pluviôse, irrité . . .  76. Spleen: J’ai plus de souvenirs . . .  77. Spleen: Je suis comme le roi . . .  78. Spleen: Quand le ciel . . .  79. Obsession 80. Le Goût du néant 81. Alchimie de la douleur 82. Horreur sympathique 83. L’Héautontimorouménos (1857: 52) 84. L’Irrémédiable 85. L’Horloge 86. Paysage 87. Le Soleil (1857: 2) 88. À une mendiante rousse 89. Le Cygne 90. Les Sept Vieillards 91. Les Petites Vieilles 92. Les Aveugles

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93. À une passante 94. Le Squelette laboureur 66. Le Jeu (1861: 96) 67. Le Crépuscule du soir 95. Le Crépuscule du soir 96. Le Jeu (1857: 66) 97. Danse macabre 98. L’Amour du mensonge 99. Je n´ai pas oublié . . .  (1857: 70) 100. La servante au grand cœur . . .  (1857: 69) 101. Brumes et pluies (1857: 63) 102. Rêve parisien 68. Le Crépuscule du matin 103. Le Crépuscule du matin 69. La servante au grand cœur . . . (1861: 100) 70. Je n´ai pas oublié . . . (1861: 99) 71. Le Tonneau de la Haine (1861: 73) 72. Le Revenant (1861: 63) 73. Le Mort joyeux (1861: 72) 74. Sépulture (1861: 70) 75. Tristesses de la lune (1861: 65) 76. La Musique (1861: 69) 77. La Pipe (1861: 68) 104. L’Âme du vin 105. Le Vin des chiffonniers 106. Le Vin de l’assassin 107. Le Vin du solitaire 108. Le Vin des amants (1857: 93–97) 78. La Destruction 109. La Destruction 79. Une martyre 110. Une martyre 80. Lesbos 81. Femmes damnées: À la pâle clarté . . .  82. Femmes damnées: Comme un 111. Femmes damnées: Comme un bétail pensif . . .  bétail pensif . . .  83. Les Deux Bonnes Sœurs 112. Les Deux Bonnes Sœurs 84. La Fontaine de sang 113. La Fontaine de sang 85. Allégorie 114. Allégorie 86. La Béatrice 115. La Béatrice 87. Les Métamorphoses du vampire 88. Un voyage à Cythère 116. Un voyage à Cythère 266

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89. L’Amour et le crâne 90. Le Reniement de saint Pierre 91. Abel et Caïn 92. Les Litanies de Satan 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 (1861: 104–8) 98. La Mort des amants 99. La Mort des pauvres 100. La Mort des artistes

117. L’Amour et le crâne 118. Le Reniement de saint Pierre 119. Abel et Caïn 120. Les Litanies de Satan

121. La Mort des amants 122. La Mort des pauvres 123. La Mort des artistes 124. La Fin de la journée 125. Le Rêve d’un curieux 126. Le Voyage

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Appendix B

The Order of the Poems in Le Spleen de Paris i

1. L’Étranger 2. Le Désespoir de la vieille 3. Le Confiteor de l’artiste 4. Un plaisant 5. La Chambre double 6. Chacun sa chimère 7. Le Fou et la Vénus 8. Le Chien et le flacon 9. Le Mauvais Vitrier 10. À une heure du matin 11. La Femme sauvage et la petite-maîtresse 12. Les Foules 13. Les Veuves 14. Le Vieux Saltimbanque 15. Le Gâteau 16. L’Horloge 17. Un hémisphère dans une chevelure 18. L’Invitation au voyage 19. Le Joujou du pauvre 20. Les Dons des fées 21. Les Tentations, ou Éros, Plutus et la gloire 22. Le Crépuscule du soir 23. La Solitude 269

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24. Les Projets 25. La Belle Dorothée 26. Les Yeux des pauvres 27. Une mort héroïque 28. La Fausse Monnaie 29. Le Joueur généreux 30. La Corde 31. Les Vocations 32. Le Thyrse 33. Enivrez-vous 34. Déjà! 35. Les Fenêtres 36. Le Désir de peindre 37. Les Bienfaits de la lune 38. Laquelle est la vraie? 39. Un cheval de race 40. Le Miroir 41. Le Port 42. Portraits de maîtresses 43. Le Galant Tireur 44. La Soupe et les nuages 45. Le Tir et le cimetière 46. Perte d’auréole 47. Mademoiselle Bistouri 48. Any where out of the world—N’importe où hors du monde 49. Assommons les pauvres! 50. Les Bons Chiens

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i

Baudelaire, Charles. Correspondance. Edited by Claude Pichois and Jean Ziegler. 2 vols. Paris: Gallimard/Pléiade, 1973. ———. Les Fleurs du mal. Edited by Jacques Crépet and Georges Blin. Paris: José Corti, 1942. ———. Les Fleurs du mal. Edited by Antoine Adam. Paris: Garnier, 1961. ———. Les Fleurs du mal. Edited by Jacques Dupont. Paris: GF Flammarion, 2006. ———. Œuvres complètes. Edited by Claude Pichois. 2 vols. Paris: Gallimard/Pléiade, 1975–76. ———. The Parisian Prowler: Le Spleen de Paris / Petits Poèmes en prose. Translated by Edward K. Kaplan. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1989. ———. Petits Poèmes en prose. Edited by Henri Lemaitre. Paris: Garnier, 1962. ———. Petits Poèmes en prose. Edited by Robert Kopp. Paris: José Corti, 1969. ———. Le Spleen de Paris: Petits poèmes en prose. Edited by Yves Florenne. Paris: Le Livre de Poche, 1998. ———. Le Spleen de Paris. Edited by Robert Kopp. Paris: Gallimard/Poésie, 2006. Berger, Anne. “‘À une mendiante rousse’: variations sur le don d’un poème.” In Lectures des Fleurs du mal, edited by Steve Murphy, 315–30. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2002. Bescherelle, Louis-Nicolas. Dictionnaire universel de la langue française. Paris: Garnier frères, 1856. Blood, Susan. “Mimesis and the Grotesque in ‘L’Albatros.’” In Understanding Les Fleurs du Mal: Critical Readings, edited by William J. Thompson, 1–15. 271

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Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press, 1997. Burton, Richard D. E. “Baudelaire’s S/Z: ‘Sisina’ and the Domestication of the Feminine.” Modern Philology 92, no. 1 (1994): 64–72. Cargo, Robert T. A Concordance to Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1965. ———. Concordance to Baudelaire’s Petits Poèmes en Prose. University: University of Alabama Press, 1971. Chambers, Ross. “Recycling the Ragpicker: ‘Le Vin des chiffonniers.’” In Understanding Les Fleurs du Mal: Critical Readings, edited by William J. Thompson, 176–91. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press, 1997. ———. “Trois paysages urbains: Les Poèmes liminaires des Tableaux parisiens.” Modern Philology 80, no. 4 (May 1983): 372–89. Drost, Wolfgang. “L’Inspiration plastique chez Baudelaire.” Gazette des BeauxArts 49 (May–June 1957): 321–36. Evans, Margery A. Baudelaire and Intertextuality: Poetry at the Crossroads. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Françon, Marcel. “L’unité des Fleurs du mal.” PMLA 60, no. 4 (December 1945): 1130–37. Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. Translated and edited by James Strachey. New York: Avon Books, 1965. Garson, R. W. “Theocritean Elements in Virgil’s Eclogues.” Classical Quarterly, New Series, 21, no. 1 (May 1971): 188–203. Godfrey, Sima. “Baudelaire’s Windows.” L’Esprit Créateur 22, no. 4 (Winter 1982): 83–100. Guerlac, Suzanne. The Impersonal Sublime: Hugo, Baudelaire, Lautréamont. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990. Hansen, William. “Foam-Born Aphrodite and the Mythology of Transformation.” American Journal of Philology 121, no. 1 (Spring 2001): 1–19. Hiddleston, J. A. Baudelaire and Le Spleen de Paris. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. ———. “‘Chacun son Spleen’: Some Observations on Baudelaire’s Prose Poems.” Modern Language Review 86, no. 1 (January 1991): 66–69. ———. Review of Lawler, James. Poetry and Moral Dialectic: Baudelaire’s “Secret Architecture.” French Studies 54, no. 1 (2000): 98–99. Johnson, Barbara. Défigurations du language poétique. Paris: Flammarion, 1979. Kaplan, Edward K. Baudelaire’s Prose Poems: The Esthetic, the Ethical, and the Religious in The Parisian Prowler. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1990. Klein, Richard. “‘Bénédiction’/‘Perte d’Auréole’: Parables of Interpretation.” MLN 85, no. 4 (May 1970): 515–28. Kuin, Roger, and Anne Lake Prescott. “The Wrath of Priapus: Rémy Belleau’s ‘Jean qui ne peult’ and Its Traditions.” Comparative Literature Studies 37, no. 1 (2000): 1–17. 272

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works Cited

Larousse, Pierre. Grand dictionnaire universel du XIXe siècle. Paris: Pierre Larousse, 1866–77. Lawler, James. Poetry and Moral Dialectic: Baudelaire’s “Secret Architecture.” Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1997. ———. “The Prose Poem as Art of Anticlimax: Baudelaire’s ‘Kaléidoscope.’” Australian Journal of French Studies 36, no. 3 (1999): 327–38. Leakey, F. W. Baudelaire and Nature. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1969. ———. Baudelaire: Les Fleurs du Mal. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. The Savage Mind. Translated by John Weightman and Doreen Weightman. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966. Originally published as La Pensée sauvage (Paris: Plon, 1962). Littré, Émile. Dictionnaire de la langue française. Paris : Hachette, 1877. Available at http://françois.gannaz.free.fr./Littre. Lloyd, Rosemary. Baudelaire’s World. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002. Lucan. Pharsalia. Translated by Edward Ridley. Originally published as The Pharsalia of Lucan (London: Longmans, Green,. 1896. Available at The Online Medieval and Classical Library at http://omacl.org/Pharsalia/. Mahuzier, Brigitte. “Profaned Memory: A Proustian Reading of ‘Je n’ai pas oublié . . . ’” In Understanding Les Fleurs du Mal: Critical Readings, edited by William J. Thompson, 160–75. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press, 1997. Milner, Max. “Introduction.” In Le Spleen de Paris, by Charles Baudelaire, 9–47. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1979. Mortelette, Yann. “Les Bons Chiens, Macbeth et ‘l’oeuvre sans nom.’” Bulletin baudelairien 31, no. 2 (1996): 100–105. Moskalew, Walter. Formular Language and Poetic Design in the Aeneid. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1982. Murphy, Steve. Logiques du dernier Baudelaire: Lectures du Spleen de Paris. Paris: Honoré Champion, 2007. The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics. Edited by Alex Preminger and T. V. F. Brogan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993. Nies, Fritz. Poesie in prosaischer Welt. Untersuchungen zum Prosagedicht bei Aloysius Bertrand und Baudelaire. Heidelberg: Winter, 1964. Pearce, James B. “Theocritus and Oral Tradition.” Oral Tradition 8, no. 1 (1993): 59–86. Pichois, Claude, and Jean Ziegler. Baudelaire. Paris: Julliard, 1987. Plutarch. “The Oracles at Delphi No Longer Given in Verse.” In Plutarch’s Moralia, translated by Frank Cole Babbitt, vol. 5: 255–345. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University/Loeb Library, 1957. 273

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Porter, Laurence M., ed. Approaches to Teaching Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil. New York: Modern Language Association, 2000. Quesnel, Michel. Baudelaire solaire et clandestin. Paris: PUF, 1987. Raitt, A. W. “On Le Spleen de Paris.” Nineteenth-Century French Studies 18, nos. 1–2 (1989–90): 150–64. Richter, Mario. Baudelaire: Les Fleurs du mal: Lecture intégrale. Geneva: Slatkine, 2001. Robb, Graham. “Érotisme et obscénité des ‘Fleurs du mal.’” Europe, nos. 760– 61 (August–September 1992): 69–78. Runyon, Randolph Paul. The Art of the Persian Letters: Unlocking Montesquieu’s “Secret Chain.” Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2005. ———. The Braided Dream: Robert Penn Warren’s Late Poetry. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1990. ———. “The Circus in the Attic.” In The Taciturn Text: The Fiction of Robert Penn Warren, 117–32. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 1990. ———. “The Double Discourse of I:21–25 and I:37–33.” In Montaigne and the Gods: The Mythological Key to the “Essays,” edited by Daniel Martin, 131–54. Amherst, MA: Hestia Press, 1993. ———. “Dreams and Other Connections Among Carver’s Recovered Stories.” Journal of the Short Story in English 46 (Spring 2006): 63–73. ———. Ghostly Parallels: Robert Penn Warren and the Lyric Poetic Sequence. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2006. ———. In La Fontaine’s Labyrinth: A Thread through the Fables. Charlottesville, VA: Rookwood Press/EMF Monographs, 2000. ———. “‘It’s like, but not like, a dream’: On Reading Ultramarine.” In New Paths to Raymond Carver, edited by Sandra Kleppe and Robert Miltner, 20– 34. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2008. ———. “Montaigne bis.” In Renaissance et Nouvelle Critique: quatrième symposium sur la Renaissance, edited by Raymond Ortali, 117–34. Jávea, Spain: Artes Gráficas Soler, 1978. ———. “Montaigne’s Larceny: Book III’s Symmetrical Intertexts.” In The Order of Montaigne’s “Essays,” edited by Daniel Martin, 58–76. Amherst, MA: Hestia Press, 1989. ———. “Notes on the Tales.” In La Fontaine’s Complete Tales in Verse: An Illustrated and Annotated Translation, 225–59. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2009. ———. “The ‘Oblique Gaze’: Some Evidence of Symmetry in Montaigne’s Essais (I: 1–6, 57–52).” In Essays in European Literature for Walter A. Strauss, edited by Alice N. Benston and Marshall C. Olds, 13–26. Manhattan, KS: Studies in Twentieth Century Literature, 1990. ———. “La parole gênée: Genèse et palinodie.” Change 16/17 (1973): 248– 64. 274

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works Cited

———. Reading Raymond Carver. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1992. ———. “La séquence et la symétrie comme principes d’organisation chez Montesquieu, La Fontaine et Montaigne.” In Le Recueil littéraire: Pratiques et théorie d’une forme, edited by Irène Langlet, 177–86. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2003. ———. “The Vanishing Center.” In Freedom Over Servitude: Montaigne, La Boétie, and “On Voluntary Servitude,” edited by David Lewis Schaefer, 87–113. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1998. Scève, Maurice. The ‘Délie’ of Maurice Scève. Edited by I. D. McFarlane. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966. Scott, Maria C. Baudelaire’s Le Spleen de Paris: Shifting Perspectives. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2005. Starobinski, Jean. “‘Je n’ai pas oublié . . .’ (Baudelaire: poème XCIX des Fleurs du mal).” In Au bonheur des mots: mélanges en l’honneur de Gérald Antoine, 419–29. Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, 1984. Stephens, Sonya. Baudelaire’s Prose Poems: The Practice and Politics of Irony. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Thélot, Jérôme. “Une citation de Shakespeare dans Les Bons Chiens.” Bulletin baudelairien 24, no. 2 (1989): 61–66. Virgil. Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid I–VI, vol. 1. Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965. Wright, Barbara. “Baudelaire’s Poetic Journey in Les Fleurs du Mal.” In The Cambridge Companion to Baudelaire, edited by Rosemary Lloyd, 31–50. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

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i

Verse poems

“Bohémiens en voyage,” 29–30, 106, 175 “Brumes et pluies,” 78–80, 176–78 “Causerie,” 69–71, 138–40, 148 “Chanson d’après-midi,” 142–45 “Chant d’automne,” 138–42 “Une charogne,” 43–47 “Le Chat: Dans ma cervelle . . . ,” 9, 63–65 “Le Chat: Viens . . . ,” 51–52, 64, 130 “Châtiment de l’orgueil,” 31–33 “Les Chats,” 72–74, 147, 149–50 “La Chevelure,” 126–29, 213–15, 236, 252 “Ciel brouillé,” 9, 62–63, 64 “La Cloche fêlée,” 74–76, 154–55 “Confession,” 58–59 “Correspondances,” 21–23 “Le Crépuscule du matin,” 82–83, 179–81 “Le Crépuscule du soir,” 81–83, 170, 174, 179 “Le Cygne,” 15, 163–66 “Danse macabre,” 170–75 “De profundis clamavi,” 45–47 “La Destruction,” 10, 91–92, 181–83 “Les Deux Bonnes Soeurs,” 10, 96–99, 181 “Don Juan aux Enfers,” 30–33

“Abel et Caïn,” 105–8 “À celle qui est trop gaie,” 56–58, 137, 195 “L’Albatros,” 120–22, 161, 162 “Alchimie de la douleur,” 157–58 “Allégorie,” 98–101 “L’Âme du vin,” 108–13, 180–81 “L’Amour du mensonge,” 9, 84–85, 172–76 “L’Amour et le crâne,” 102–5 “L’Aube spirituelle,” 8, 58–60, 178 “Au Lecteur,” 17–21, 195 “À une dame créole,” 71–72, 146 “À une madone,” 140–43, 146 “À une mendiante rousse,” 15, 80– 81, 120, 162–65 “À une passante,” 168–69 “Avec ses vêtements . . . ,” 40–43, 45 “Les Aveugles,” 167–69 “Le Balcon,” 27–28, 52–54, 130–32 “La Béatrice,” 99–101, 183–84, 194–95 “Le Beau Navire,” 9, 64–67 “La Beauté,” 33–35 “Bénédiction,” 17–21, 120–22, 163, 194, 249 “Les Bijoux,” 35–37, 49, 123–25

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Index to Baudelaire’s Works

“Duellum,” 130–31 “Élévation,” 20–21, 86, 120–22, 163 “L’Ennemi,” 27–28 “Un fantôme,” 51, 132–35, 137 “Femmes damnées: À la pâle clarté . . . ,” 41, 94–96 “Femmes damnées: Comme un bétail . . . ,” 95–97, 183 “La Fin de la journée,” 185–87 “Le Flacon,” 8–9, 15, 59–62 “Le Flambeau vivant,” 56–57, 60, 137–38, 195 “La Fontaine de sang,” 10, 97–99 “Franciscae meae laudes,” 71–72, 145 “La Géante,” 35–37, 123–24 “Le Goût du néant,” 156–57 “Une gravure fantastique,” 151–53 “Le Guignon,” 27–30 “Harmonie du soir,” 8, 15, 59–61 “L’Héautontimorouménos,” 70–71, 145, 158–59 “Les Hiboux,” 73–75, 150 “L’Homme et la mer,” 30–31 “L’Horloge,” 159–61 “Horreur sympathique,” 157–58 “Hymne à la beauté,” 123–26 “L’Idéal,” 34–35 “L’Invitation au voyage,” 9, 65–69, 214–16, 218, 252 “L’Irrémédiable,” 79–80, 158–60 “L’Irréparable,” 67–70, 164 “J’aime le souvenir . . . ,” 21–24, 26, 175 “Je n’ai pas oublié . . . ,” 9–10, 83– 87, 98, 172–76, 178 “Je t’adore à l’égal . . . ,” 38–39, 127–29 “Je te donne ces vers . . . ,” 18, 52– 55, 61, 134–36 “Le Jeu,” 81–82, 170–75 “Lesbos,” 41, 93–96, 183 “Le Léthé,” 47–50, 129, 194 “Les Litanies de Satan,” 10, 107–9, 184–85 “Une martyre,” 91–94, 182, 183 “Le Masque,” 123–25 “Le Mauvais Moine,” 25–27

“Les Métamorphoses du vampire,” 100–102, 183–84, 195 “Moesta et errabunda,” 72–74, 145–47 “La Mort des amants,” 117–18, 184–85 “La Mort des artistes,” 119, 185 “La Mort des pauvres,” 118–19 “Le Mort joyeux,” 88–89, 146, 153–54 “La Muse malade,” 23–26 “La Muse vénale,” 25–26 “La Musique,” 90, 149, 150–51, 153–54, 156 “Une nuit que j’étais . . . ,” 15, 48– 51, 52, 128–30, 194 “Obsession,” 155–56, 157 “Parfum exotique,” 37–38, 125–29, 252 “Paysage,” 120, 159–62 “Les Petites Vieilles,” 166–68 “Les Phares,” 23–26 “La Pipe,” 90–91, 150 “Le Poison,” 9, 61–63 “Le Possédé,” 131–34 “Que diras-tu ce soir . . . ,” 55–56 “Remords posthume,” 50–52, 64 “Le Reniement de saint Pierre,” 103–7 “Le Rêve d’un curieux,” 185–88 “Rêve parisien,” 177–80 “Le Revenant,” 87–88, 145–48 “Réversibilité,” 57–58, 137–38, 195 “Sed non satiata,” 39–41, 93 “Semper eadem,” 54, 135–37 “Les Sept Vieillards,” 15, 165–67 “Sépulture,” 88–89, 149–53, 156 “Le Serpent qui danse,” 9, 41–45 “La servante au grand coeur . . . ,” 10, 83–86, 174–77, 179 “Sisina,” 143–45 “Le Soleil,” 19–21, 98, 110, 120, 161–63 “Sonnet d’automne,” 145–49 “Spleen: J’ai plus de souvenirs . . . ,” 76–77 “Spleen: Je suis comme le roi . . . ,”

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76–78 “Spleen: Pluviôse, irrité . . . ,” 51, 75–76, 85, 164 “Spleen: Quand le ciel bas . . . ,” 77–80, 155–56 “Le Squelette laboureur,” 169–70 “Le Tonneau de la Haine,” 87–88, 145, 146, 153–55 “Tout entière,” 53–56, 61, 136–37 “Tristesses de la lune,” 89–90, 146, 148–51 “Tu mettrais l’univers . . . ,” 38–40 “Le Vampire,” 15, 47–48, 50, 128– 30, 194 “La Vie antérieure,” 28–30 “Le Vin de l’assassin,” 113–16, 181 “Le Vin des amants,” 116–18, 181–83 “Le Vin des chiffonniers,” 15, 110– 16, 181 “Le Vin du solitaire,” 116–17 “Le Voyage,” 187–88, 194, 196 “Un voyage à Cythère,” 101–4, 183–84, 195

“Les Dons des fées,” 219–21 “Enivrez-vous,” 238–40 “L’Étranger,” 196–97 “La Fausse Monnaie,” 230–33 “La Femme sauvage et la petite-maîtresse,” 205–7 “Les Fenêtres,” 12, 240–42 “Le Fou et la Vénus,” 13, 200–203 “Les Foules,” 12, 206–9, 223, 254 “Le Galant Tireur,” 247–48 “Le Gâteau,” 12, 13, 15, 210–13 “Un hémisphère dans une chevelure,” 213–16, 218 “L’Horloge,” 13, 211–14 “L’Invitation au voyage,” 214–19, 252 “Le Joueur généreux,” 232–34 “Le Joujou du pauvre,” 216–20 “Laquelle est la vraie?” 243–45 “Mademoiselle Bistouri,” 250–53 “Le Mauvais Vitrier,” 201–5, 206 “Le Miroir,” 245–46 “Une mort héroïque,” 228–32 “Perte d’auréole,” 249–52 “Un plaisant,” 198–99 “Le Port,” 246–47 “Portraits de maîtresses,” 246–48, 249 “Les Projets,” 12, 13, 224–26 “La Solitude,” 222–25 “La Soupe et les nuages,” 248–49 “Les Tentations, ou Éros, Plutus et la gloire,” 220–22 “Le Thyrse,” 15, 41, 237–40 “Le Tir et le cimetière,” 248–50 “Les Veuves,” 12, 207–10, 223, 254 “Le Vieux Saltimbanque,” 12, 209–12 “Les Vocations,” 235–38 “Les Yeux des pauvres,” 15, 226–30

Prose poems “Any where out of the world.— N’importe où hors du monde,” 251–53 “Assommons les pauvres!,” 252–61 “À une heure du matin,” 203–6 “La Belle Dorothée,” 12, 13, 15, 225–28 “Les Bienfaits de la lune,” 243–45 “Les Bons Chiens,” 8, 253–61 “Chacun sa chimère,” 199–204 “La Chambre double,” 198–200 “Un cheval de race,” 245–46 “Le Chien et le flacon,” 13, 201–4 “Le Confiteor de l’artiste,” 197–98 “La Corde,” 233–37 “Le Crépuscule du soir,” 221–24 “Déjà!,” 12, 239–42 “Le Désespoir de la vieille,” 196–98 “Le Désir de peindre,” 242–43

Other prose works “Canevas de la dédicace,” 203 Du vin et du hachisch, 110–13 “Hégésippe Moreau,” 260 “L’Ivrogne,” 115 Letter to Arsène Houssaye about the

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mal,” 14 “Richard Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris,” 5–6, 17, 149, 192–94 Salon de 1846, 22

poems in prose, 11–12, 189–95, 203, 207, 243, 258–60 “Morale du joujou,” 216–19 “Projet de préface pour Les Fleurs du

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General Index

i

Adam, Antoine, 9, 10, 24, 36, 41, 57, 61, 67, 68, 71, 90, 97, 98, 105–6, 116, 141, 142, 152, 156, 159 Asselineau, Charles, 11n16, 257 Aupick, Caroline (Baudelaire’s mother), 84, 175

Evans, Margery, 2n3, 203, 257, 258 Flaubert, Gustave, 120 Florenne, Yves, 205 Françon, Marcel, 3 Freud, Sigmund, 111 Garson, R. W., 259 Gautier, Théophile, 4, 101, 194 Godfrey, Sima, 241–42 Goltzius, Hendrick, 102 Goya, Francisco, 130 Gray, Thomas, 28, 30 Guerlac, Suzanne, 232

Balzac, Honoré de, 147, 205 Banville, Théodore de, 11n16, 141, 257 Barbey d’Aurevilly, Jules, 2–5 Baudelaire, François (Baudelaire’s father), 86 Belleau, Rémy, 147 Berger, Anne, 80 Blood, Susan, 120 Burton, Richard D. E., 144n2

Hansen, William, 49n6 Hiddleston, J. A., 9, 12, 191, 203 Hugo, Victor, 41

Carver, Raymond, 15 Chambers, Ross, 111, 179n6

Johnson, Barbara, 204, 213n17 Kaplan, Edward K., 13, 195, 196, 236, 238, 241, 243, 245, 258 Klein, Richard, 249 Kopp, Robert, 196, 207

Dante, 100 Daubrun, Marie, 61, 64, 67, 89, 141, 142 Drost, Wolfgang, 256n25 DuBellay, Joachim, 175 Dupont, Jacques, 93, 130 Duval, Jeanne, 36–37, 40, 54, 61

La Fontaine, Jean de, 15 Lawler, James, 8–11, 13, 31, 67, 196–97, 203, 231–32

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General Index

Leakey, F. W., 1–6, 22 Lemaitre, Henri, 196 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 1, 8, 203 Liszt, Franz, 5, 6, 17, 192–94, 237–40 Lloyd, Rosemary, 110–11 Lucan, 154–55

Plutarch, 94 Poe, Edgar Allan, 7, 243 Poulet-Malassis, Auguste, 173–74, 175, 255 Quesnel, Michel, 6, 32, 139, 178 Raitt, A. W., 12 Richter, Mario, 9–10, 13, 22n2, 33, 34, 42, 58n7, 70, 71, 80, 84–85, 96, 104, 105, 116, 121, 163 Rimbaud, Arthur, 147 Robb, Graham, 147

Mahuzier, Brigitte, 85 Mallarmé, Stéphane, 44n5 Manet, Edouard, 233–34, 236 Michelangelo, 34–35 Milner, Max, 11–12, 11n16 Molière, 31 Montaigne, Michel de, 15 Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat, baron de, 15 Mortelette, Yann, 257 Mortimer, John Hamilton, 152 Moskalew, Walter, 260 Murphy, Steve, 191, 192, 195, 202, 205, 219, 232–33, 249, 257

Sabatier, Apollonie-Aglaé, 9, 54, 57, 61 Scève, Maurice, 179 Scott, Maria C., 257 Shakespeare, 34, 35, 100, 257 Starobinski, Jean, 86n10 Stephens, Sonya, 207–8 Stevens, Joseph, 255–56, 261

Nies, Fritz, 12–13, 198–99n9, 201, 207, 212n15, 225–26, 241n21, 245, 247

Thélot, Jérome, 257 Theocritus, 258–61

Ovid, 40, 158

Vigny, Alfred de, 3, 22, 194 Virgil, 100, 258–61 Voltaire, 88

Pearce, James B., 259 Pichois, Claude, 5, 10, 21, 22–23, 25, 30, 38, 40–41, 49, 64, 69, 71, 92, 93, 97, 98, 100, 105, 109, 116, 127, 134, 141, 145, 152, 154, 159, 162, 166, 168, 257

Wagner, Richard, 5–6, 17, 149, 192– 94, 238n20 Warren, Robert Penn, 15 Wright, Barbara, 7–8

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