Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s: An Anthology of British Poetry and Prose / Edition 2 available in Paperback, eBook
Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s: An Anthology of British Poetry and Prose / Edition 2
- ISBN-10:
- 0897330447
- ISBN-13:
- 9780897330442
- Pub. Date:
- 08/30/2005
- Publisher:
- Chicago Review Press, Incorporated
- ISBN-10:
- 0897330447
- ISBN-13:
- 9780897330442
- Pub. Date:
- 08/30/2005
- Publisher:
- Chicago Review Press, Incorporated
Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s: An Anthology of British Poetry and Prose / Edition 2
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Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9780897330442 |
---|---|
Publisher: | Chicago Review Press, Incorporated |
Publication date: | 08/30/2005 |
Edition description: | Second Edition, Second edition |
Pages: | 337 |
Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.90(d) |
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Read an Excerpt
Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s
An Anthology of British Poetry and Prose
By Karl Beckson
Chicago Review Press Incorporated
Copyright © 1981 Karl BecksonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-89733-044-2
CHAPTER 1
John Barlas
[1860–1914]
OBLIVION
Oblivion! is it not one name of death?
Nay, is not Lethe death's most dismal name,
Death growing hour by hour within our frame,
Death settling slowly in our brain, the breath
Of the soul ebbing, so that he who saith,
I am to-day as yesterday the same,
Lies, for his thoughts are fled like smoke from flame,
And like the dew his sorrow vanisheth.
Changed is the river, though the waves remain,
Which rocks of slowlier-changing circumstance
Plough up in every day of chafing foam.
Changed is the river, gone, gone to the main,
Yesterday's dream and last year's happy chance,
And the heart's thoughts again return not home.
THE MEMPHIAN TEMPLE
By the yellow Nile a temple of black marble,
Swart colossal columns on the fulvous Nile!
In the precinct palm-trees grow, and wild birds warble;
'Neath the gate-way basks the crocodile;
In the vista stalks the ibis flaunting
Feathers black and white;
From the shrine come songs of wild priests haunting All the night.
Mystery, Memphian gloom. The vast hawk-sphinxes slumber
Either side the portal, where, white-robed, the dark
Votaries, in procession, endless, without number,
Bear the sacred beetle in the ark,
To the waters of the sacred river,
Chanting in a row,
In the hoof-prints of the gold-horned heifer As they go.
THE DANCING GIRL
Gaudy painted hangings, fringed by many a tatter,
Daubed with bird or beast! Pipe, whistle and scream,
Flute and clarion, trump and drum, and clatter
Of the doll-musicians, blown by steam!
There before the screen a damsel tinkling
With a timbrel, timed by bell and gong,
Sashed with scarlet, blue, and tinsel twinkling,
Danced and leapt along.
With her shadow on the painted canvas dancing
Fitful cast by the jet's flickering glare,
Sinuous limbs, arms waving, quick feet glancing,
True to cymbal's clash and clarion's blare!
How the pure grace of her girlish motion
Made the vulgar show seem half divine,
Steeped my breast as with an opiate potion
Of enchanted wine!
But the shadow on the waving back-ground thrilled me,
For it seemed a skeleton on springs,
And its jerky leaps and gestures filled me
With a dream of hollow eyeless rings,
Bony shanks, and blackened teeth a-grinning,
Lurid damp-fires of sepulchral dew, —
Till my dizzy brain, betwixt them, spinning,
Wondered which was true.
BEAUTY'S ANADEMS
A dagger-hilt crusted with flaming gems:
A queen's rich girdle clasped with tiger's claws;
A lady's glove or a cat's velvet paws;
The whisper of a judge when he condemns;
Fierce night-shade berries purple on their stems
Among the rose's healthsome scarlet haws;
A rainbow-sheathed snake with jagged jaws:
Such are queen Beauty's sovran anadems.
For she caresses with a poisoned hand,
And venom hangs about her moistened lips,
And plots of murder lurk with her eyes
She loves lewd girls dancing a saraband
The murderer stabbing till all his body drips,
And thee, my gentle lady, and thy soft sighs.
THE CAT-LADY
Her hair is yellow as sulphur, and her gaze
As brimstone burning blue and odorous:
I know not how her eyes came to be thus
But I do think her soul must be ablaze:
Their pupils wane or wax to blame or praise;
As a cat watches mice, she watches us;
And I am sure her claws are murderous,
So feline are her velvet coaxing ways.
She purrs like a young leopard soothed and pleased
At flattery; so too turns and snarls when teased,
And pats her love like a beast of prey.
I fancy too that over wine and food
Her saffron hair turns tawny and grand her mood —
She broods like a young lioness of play.
TERRIBLE LOVE
The marriage of two murderers in the gloom
Of a dark fane to hymns of blackest night;
Before a priest who keeps his hands from sight
Hidden away beneath his robe of doom,
Lest any see the flowers of blood that bloom
For gems upon the fingers, red on white;
The while far up in domes of dizzy height
The trumpets of the organ peal and boom:
Such is our love. Oh sweet delicious lips
From which I fancy all the world's blood drips!
Oh supple waist, pale cheek, and eyes of fire,
Hard little breasts and white gigantic hips,
And blue-black hair with serpent coils that slips
Out of my hand in hours of red desire.
MY LADY'S BATH
See where the silver walls enclose
The rippling lake her song-bird sips!
The powdery fume the fountain throws,
The jet the dolphin spouts from his lips,
Whose neck Arion closely clips;
And the polished pebbles and gems, that pave,
As the sea-floor deep down under the ships,
The silver bath of the perfumed wave.
And now the maid a drapet strows,
And next a fragrant cream she whips;
Then napkins come like warmed snows;
And hither my lady lightly trips,
And dabbles her dainty Anger-tips;
For my lady is fair, but is not brave,
And loves not water that burns or nips
In the silver bath of the perfumed wave.
Hark! she is coming my beautiful rose!
Hush! we are hidden, and she! she strips:
The petals fall, and the white skin shows,
The marble breasts, and the polished hips.
Then one foot in the tide she dips;
Then over her body the waters lave;
And then she rises and warmly drips
In the silver bath of the perfumed wave.
Into my arms the dear form slips.
I dare not think of it, lest I rave;
The naked body's pale eclipse
In the silver bath of the perfumed wave.
Aubrey Beardsley
[1872–1898]
THE BALLAD OF A BARBER
When Beardsley submitted "The Ballad of a Barber" for publication in the Savoy, Arthur Symons told Smithers that it would not do. In a letter to Smithers, Beardsley wrote in April, 1896:
I am horrified at what you tell me about "The Ballad." I had no idea it was "poor." For goodness sake print the poem under a pseudonym and separately from Under the Will. What do you think of "Symons" as a nom de plume? Seriously the thing must not be printed under my name.
However, Beardsley revised the poem, which appeared in the July number under his own name. Jerome H. Buckley, in The Victorian Temper, has written that it was "surely intended to convey a complete allegory of Decadence itself." The idea of the demon barber may have come from John Gray's "The Barber," a sexual fantasy which had appeared in Silverpoints (1893).
Beardsley worked on a sequel, but it was never published. In a letter to Smithers in July, 1896, he wrote:
The first ten verses give a very spirited description of the post-mortem examination of the princess.
Here is the tale of Carrousel,
The barber of Meridian Street,
He cut, and coiffed, and shaved so well,
That all the world was at his feet.
The King, the Queen, and all the Court,
To no one else would trust their hair,
And reigning belles of every sort
Owed their successes to his care.
With carriage and with cabriolet
Daily Meridian Street was blocked,
Like bees about a bright bouquet
The beaux about his doorway flocked.
Such was his art he could with ease
Curl wit into the dullest face;
Or to a goddess of old Greece
Add a new wonder and a grace.
All powders, paints, and subtle dyes,
And costliest scents that men distil,
And rare pomades, forgot their price
And marvelled at his splendid skill.
The curling irons in his hand
Almost grew quick enough to speak,
The razor was a magic wand
That understood the softest cheek.
Yet with no pride his heart was moved;
He was so modest in his ways!
His daily task was all he loved,
And now and then a little praise.
An equal care he would bestow
On problems simple or complex;
And nobody had seen him show
A preference for either sex.
How came it then one summer day,
Coiffing the daughter of the King,
He lengthened out the least delay
And loitered in his hairdressing?
The Princess was a pretty child,
Thirteen years old, or thereabout.
She was as joyous and as wild
As spring flowers when the sun is out.
Her gold hair fell down to her feet
And hung about her pretty eyes;
She was as lyrical and sweet
As one of Schubert's melodies.
Three times the barber curled a lock,
And thrice he straightened it again;
And twice the irons scorched her frock,
And twice he stumbled in her train.
His fingers lost their cunning quite,
His ivory combs obeyed no more;
Something or other dimmed his sight,
And moved mysteriously the floor.
He leant upon the toilet table,
His fingers fumbled in his breast;
He felt as foolish as a fable,
And feeble as a pointless jest.
He snatched a bottle of Cologne,
And broke the neck between his hands;
He felt as if he was alone,
And mighty as a king's commands.
The Princess gave a little scream,
Carrousel's cut was sharp and deep;
He left her softly as a dream
That leaves a sleeper to his sleep.
He left the room on pointed feet;
Smiling that things had gone so well.
They hanged him in Meridian Street.
You pray in vain for Carrousel.
THE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER
in which is set forth an exact account of the manner of State held by Madam Venus, Goddess and Meretrix, under the famous Hörselberg, and containing the Adventures of Tannbäuser in that Place, his Repentance, his Journeying to Rome and Return to the Coving Mountain.
A ROMANTIC NOVEL
In 1894, Beardsley was at work on a book which the publisher John Lane listed as Venus and Tannhäuser (to include twenty-four full-page illustrations). The first three chapters — with a new title, Under the Hill — appeared with several Beardsley illustrations in the first number of The Savoy in January, 1896; a fourth chapter appeared in April. Under the Hill — a drastically bowdlerized version — removed much of the wit and daring of the original.
In 1907 — nine years after Beardsley's death — Leonard Smithers, the publisher of The Savoy, issued privately the original Venus and Tannhäuser, adding in a "Foreword" that it was "the whole of the manuscript as originally projected by Beardsley." The tale had never been completed, but its design may be surmised from the elaborate title.
The legend of Venus and Tannhäuser — employed by Wagner in his opera, which Beardsley greatly admired; by Swinburne in his poem "Laus Veneris" ("Praise of Venus"); and by William Morris in his poem "The Hill of Venus" — is based upon the wanderings of a thirteenth-century German troubadour. Beardsley's brilliant parody of the legend with its elaborately artificial style, its obvious desire to shock, and its fascination with bizarre sexuality are here superbly illustrative of the Decadence. (Wrote Arthur Symons: "I think Beardsley would rather have been a great writer than a great artist ...")
The tale is filled with private jokes, such as the mock solemnity of the dedication and the elaborately humble epistle to the non-existent Cardinal Pezzoli. In 1895, Beardsley wrote to Smithers:
I don't want the dedication to be pictured after all. It would be underlining the joke too much. To say nothing of the fact that I am not very successful with cardinals' hats.
Beardsley's illustrations for the tale — with their elaborate artifice and wit — are brilliant visualizations of what Smithers referred to as Beardsley's "wayward genius."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s by Karl Beckson. Copyright © 1981 Karl Beckson. Excerpted by permission of Chicago Review Press Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
INTRODUCTION,John Barlas,
Aubrey Beardsley,
Max Beerbohm,
Olive Custance (Lady Alfred Douglas),
Lord Alfred Douglas,
Ernest Dowson,
Michael Field,
John Gray,
Lionel Johnson,
Richard Le Gallienne,
Arthur Symons,
Oscar Wilde,
Theodore Wratislaw,
'William Butler Yeats,
APPENDIX,
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES,
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY,