A POET'S LONGINGS
You are irritated by my lack of courage, you accuse me of coveting
velvet and bronze, of not accepting the holy poverty of the poet. Alas!
I love broad curtains, candelabra, marble upon which the chisel has left
the impress of its powerful caresses. I love everything that shines,
everything that has beauty, grace and richness. I need princely
dwellings, or, rather, the fields with their carpets of fresh and
perfumed moss, their draperies of leaves, their wide horizons of light.
I prefer the luxury of God to the luxury of men.
Pardon, brothers, for silk is so soft, lace so light; the sun laughs so
gayly in gold and crystal!
Let me dream; have no fear for my pride. I wish to hear your strong and
cheering words, to embellish my mansarde with gayety, to illuminate it
with noble thoughts. If I feel too lonely, I will create for myself an
ideal sweetheart who, responsive to my call, will run to kiss me on the
forehead after the accomplishment of my task. If the floor be cold, if I
have no bread, I will forget winter and hunger in feeling my heart warm.
In one's twentieth year it is easy to be the artisan of one's joy.
The other night, the voice of the winds was melancholy, my lamp was
dying, my fire was extinguished; sleeplessness had troubled my mind,
pale phantoms were wandering about me in the gloom. I was afraid,
brothers, I felt myself weak, I shed tears. The first ray of dawn drove
off the nightmare. Now, the obstacle is no longer in me. I accept the
struggle.
I wish to live in a desert, hearing only my heart, seeing only my dream.
I desire to forget men, to question myself and reply. Like a young wife
whose bosom quivers with a mother's anxiety, the poet, when he thinks an
idea awakening in him, should have an hour of ecstasy and reflection. He
runs to shut himself up with his dear burden, fears to believe in his
good fortune, interrogates his soul, hopes and doubts in turn. Then,
when a sharper pain tells him that God has made his mind fruitful, for
long months he shuns the crowd, giving himself entirely to the love of
the masterpiece which Heaven has confided to him.
Let him hide himself, and enjoy like a miser the anguish of production;
to-morrow, in his pride, he will come forth to demand caresses for the
fruit of his mind.
I am poor; I should live alone. My pride would suffer from commonplace
consolations, my hand wishes to press only those of my equals. I am
ignorant of the world, but I feel that Want is so cold she must freeze
the hearts around her, and that, being the sister of Vice, she is timid
and ashamed when she is noble. I carry my head aloft and do not mean to
lower it.
Poverty and Solitude, be you then my guests. Be my guardian angels, my
muses, my companions with harsh but encouraging voices. Make me strong,
give me the science of living, tell me the cost of my daily bread. May
your vigorous caresses, so sharp that they seem like wounds, force me
towards the good and the just. I will relight my lamp during these
winter nights, and I will feel you both beside me, icy and silent,
bending over my table, dictating to me the hard truth. When, weary of
gloom and silence, I put by my pen and curse you, your melancholy smiles
will, perhaps, make me doubt my dreams. Then your serene and sad peace
will render you so beautiful that I will take you for my sweethearts.
Our loves shall be as serene and deep as you; the lovers of sixteen will
envy the bitter pleasure of our fruitful kisses.
But, nevertheless, brothers, it would be delightful to me to feel the
purple upon my shoulders, not to drape myself with it before the crowd,
but to live more generously beneath the rich and superb tissue. It would
be delightful to me to be king of Asia, to dream night and day upon a
bed of roses in one of those fairy-like dwelling-places, harems of
flowers and sultanas. The marble baths with perfumed fountains, the
galleries of honeysuckles supported by silver trellises, the immense
halls with ceilings sown with stars, do not these constitute the palace
which the angels should build for each young man of twenty? Youth wishes
at its festival all that sings, all that shines. When the first kiss is
given, the fiancée should be covered with lace and jewels, and the
nuptial couch, borne by four golden and marble fairies, should have a
canopy of precious stones and sheets of satin.
Brothers, brothers, do not scold me, for I wish to be wise. I shall love
my garret and think no more of my palaces. Oh! how fresh and passionate
life would be in them!