_Baudelaire to Sainte-Beuve_
_Wednesday_, 26_th_ _March_, 1856.
You well knew that this scrap of good news would enchant me. Lalanne
had been warned by Asselineau, and it would have been necessary for
the book to have been given to another person if you had not been able
to write the article. Lalanne has received a volume.
I can, with respect to the remainder of your letter, give you some
details which will perhaps interest you.
There will be a second volume and a second preface. The first volume is
written to draw the Public: "Juggling, hypotheses, false rumours," etc.
"Ligeia" is the only important piece which is morally connected with
the second volume.
The second volume is more markedly fantastic: "Hallucinations, mental
maladies, pure grotesqueness, the supernatural," etc.
The second Preface will contain the analysis of the words that I shall
not translate, and, above all, the statement of the scientific and
literary opinions of the author. It is even necessary that I should
write to M. de Humboldt on this subject to ask him his opinion on a
little book which is dedicated to him; it is "Eureka."
The first preface, that you have seen and in which I have tried to
comprise a lively protestation against Americanism, is almost complete
from the biographical point of view. We shall pretend to wish to
consider Poe only as a juggler, but I shall come back at the finish to
the supernatural character of his poetry and his stories. He is only
American in so far as he is a juggler. Beyond that, the thought is
almost anti-American. Besides, he has made fun of his compatriots as
much as he could.
Now, the piece to which you allude makes part of the second volume. It
is a dialogue between two souls, after the destruction of the earth.
There are three dialogues of this kind that I shall be happy to lend
you at the end of the month, before delivering my second volume to the
printer.
Now, I thank you with all my heart; but you are so kind that you run
risks with me. After the Poe will come two volumes of mine, one of
critical articles and the other of poems. Thus, I make my excuses to
you beforehand; and, besides, I fear that when I shall no longer speak
with the voice of a great poet, I shall be for you a brawling and
disagreeable being.
Yours ever.
At the end of the second volume of Poe I shall put some specimens of
poetry.
I am persuaded that a man so careful as yourself would not wish me to
ask him to take note of the orthography of the name [Edgar Poe]. No
"d," no diæresis, no accent.
_Baudelaire to Sainte-Beuve_
9_th March_, 1857.
My dear friend, you are too indulgent to have taken exception to the
impertinent point of interrogation that I have put after the word
"souvenir" on the copy of the "Nouvelles histoires extraordinaires,"
that I laid aside for you yesterday at the "Moniteur." If you can be
pleased, I shall think it very natural: you have spoilt me. If you
cannot, I shall still find it very natural.
This second volume is of a higher and more poetic nature than
two-thirds of the first. The third volume (in process of publication in
the "Moniteur") will be preceded by a third notice.
The tale of the end of the world is called "Conversation of Eiros with
Charmion."
A new pull has just been made of the first volume, in which the
principal faults are corrected. Michel knows that he must keep a copy
for you. If I have not the time to bring it to you, I shall have it
sent to you.
Your affectionate.
_Baudelaire to Sainte-Beuve_
_Wednesday_, 18_th August_, 1857.
Ah! dear friend, I have something very serious, something very awkward
to ask you. I wished to write to you, and then I would rather tell you.
For a fortnight my ideas on this subject have been changing; but my
lawyer (Chaix d'Est-Ange fils) insists that I talk to you about it, and
I should be very happy if you could grant me a little conversation of
three minutes to-day wherever you like, at your house or elsewhere. I
did not wish to call on you unexpectedly. It always seems to me, when I
take my way towards the rue Montparnasse, that I am going to visit that
wonderful wise man, seated in a golden tulip, whose voice speaks to
intruders with the resounding echo of a trumpet.
This morning I am awaiting some copies of my brochure; I will send you
one at the same time.
Your very affectionate.
_Baudelaire to Sainte-Beuve_
_Tuesday_, 18_th May_, 1858.
I think that I drop in upon you as inconveniently as possible, do I
not? You are engaged to-day; but, by coming to see you after four
o'clock I shall perhaps be able to find you. In any case, whether I
deceive myself or not, if you are busy this evening with your affairs,
put me to the door like a true friend.
Yours always.
_Baudelaire to Sainte-Beuve_
14_th June_, 1858.
Dear Friend,
I have just read your work on "Fanny." Is there any need for me to
tell you how charming it is and how surprising it is to see a mind
at once so full of health, of herculean health, and at the same time
most delicate, most subtle, most femininely fine! (On the subject of
feminine fineness I wanted to obey you and to read the work of the
stoic. In spite of the respect I ought to have for your authority, I
decidedly do not wish that gallantry, chivalry, mysticism, heroism, in
fact exuberance and excess, which are what is most charming even in
honesty, should be suppressed.)
With you, it is necessary to be cynical; for you are too shrewd for
deceit not to be dangerous. Ah well, this article has inspired me with
terrible jealousy. So much has been said about Loëve-Weimars and of
the service he has rendered to French literature! Shall I not find a
champion who will say as much of me?
By some cajolery, most powerful friend, shall I obtain this from you?
However, what I ask of you is not an injustice. Did you not offer it to
me at first? Are not the "Adventures of Pym" an excellent pretext for
a general sketch? You, who love to amuse yourself in all depths, will
you not make an excursion into the depths of Edgar Poe? You guess that
the request for this service is connected in my mind with the visit I
must pay to M. Pelletier. When one has a little money and goes to dine
with a former mistress one forgets everything. But there are days when
the curses of all the fools mount to one's brain, and then one implores
one's old friend, Sainte-Beuve.
Now, truly, of late I have been literally dragged in the mud, and (pity
me, it is the first time that I have lacked dignity), I have had the
weakness to reply.
I know how busy you are and how full of application for all your
lessons, for all your work and duties, etc. But if, sometimes, a little
strain were not put on friendliness, on kindness, where would the hero
of friendliness be? And if one did not say too much good about brave
men, how would they be consoled for the curses of those who only wish
to say too much evil?
Finally, I will say to you, as usual, that all that you wish will be
good.
Yours ever.