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      On his rounds he encountered the mouchards, the police informers whom he dominated in his dreamsY Social motifs from everyday Parisian life had already appeared in Sainte-Beuve, where they had been captured by lyric poetry but were not necessarily understood. Penury and alcohol combined in the mind of the cultured man of leisure in a way that differed substan- tially from tlle combination in the mind of a Baudelaire. Dans ce cabriolet declasse j'examine L'homme qui me conduit, qui n'est plus que machine, Hideux, a barbe epaisse, a longs cheveux colles; Vice, et vin, et sommeil chargent ses yeux sowes.

      Comment l'homme peut-il ainsi tomber? Vice, wine, and sleep make his drunken eyes heavy. How can man deteriorate that way? So I thought, And I drew back to the other corner of the seat. Sainte-Beuve asks himself whether his own soul is notal- most as neglected as the soul of the coachman. The litany entitled "Abel et Cain" shows the basis for Baude- laire's view of the disinherited, which was freer and more reasonable than Sainte-Beuve's.

      The poem turns the contest between the biblical brothers into one Between eternally irreconcilable races. Race d' Abel, dors, bois et mange; Dieu te sourit complaisaiil:ment. Race de Cain, dans la fange Rampe et meurs miserablement. Race of Cain, in the mire Grovel and die miserably. The poem consists of sixteen distichs; every second distich begins the same way.

      Cain, the ancestor of the disinherited, appears as the founder of a race, and this race can be none other than the proletar- iat. Did Baudelaire know these speculations? Quite possibly. What is certain is that Marx, who hailed Granier de Cassagnac as "the thinker'' of Bonapartist re- action, had encountered them. In his book Capital, he parried this racial theory by developing the concept of a "peculiar race of com- modity-owners,"41 by which he meant the proletariat. It is the race of those who possess no ;tommodity but their labor power.

      Baudelaire's satanism must not be taken too seriously. If it has s? Satan appears with his Lucif- erian halo as the keeper of profound knowledge, as an instructor in Promethean skills, as the patron saint of the stubborn and unyield- ing.

      Between the lines flashes the dark head of Blanqui. Lemaitre has pointed out the dichotomy which makes the devil "in one place the author of all evil and in others the great vanquished, the great victim:' 44 It is merely a different view of the problem if one asks what impelled Baudelaire to -give a radical theological form to his radical rejection of those in power. After the defeat of the proletariat in the June struggles, the protest against bourgeois ideas of order and respectability was waged more effectively by the ruling classes than by the oppressed.

      This is how he is portrayed in Les Chatiments. To him, Satan spoke not only for the upper crust but for the lower classes as well. Marx could hardly have wished for a better reader of the following lines from Der achtzehnte Brumaire: "When the Puritans complained at the Council of Con- stance about the wicked lives of the popes, Cardinal Pierre d' Ailly thundered at them: 'Only the devil incarnate can save the Catholic Church, and you demand angels!

      Only theft can save property, perjury religion, bastardy the family, and disorder order. His verses hold in reserve what his prose did not deny itself; this is why Satan ap- pears in them. From Satan they derive their subtle power to avoid forswearing all loyalty to that which understanding and humaneness rebelled against-even though such loyalty may be expressed in des- perate protests.

      Almost always the confession of piousness comes from Baudelaire like a battle cry. He will not give up his Satan. Satan is the real stake in the struggle which Baudelaire had to carry on with his unbelief. It is a matter not of sacraments and prayers, but of the Luciferian privilege of blaspheming the Satan to whom one has fallen prey. Baudelaire intended his friendship with Pierre Dupont to indi- cate that he was a social poet.

      Like Cain, Dupont had "gone to the cities" and turned away from the idyllic. One of his verses contains ari awkward admis- sion of this: Dupont says that the poet "lends his ear alternately to the forests and to the masses. As the achievements of the Revolution were being lost one after another, Dupont wrote his "Chant du vote" [Song of Suffrage]. There are few things in the political literature of those days that can rival its refrain.

      It is a leaf in that laurel crown which Karl Marx claimed for the "threateningly dark brows" 54 of the June fighters. Fais voir, en dejouant la ruse,. His verse supported the op- pressed, though it espoused not only their cause but their illusions as well. It had an ear for the songs of the revolution and also for the "higher voice" which spoke from the drumroll of the executions. When Bonaparte came to power through a coup d'etat, Baudelaire was momentarily enraged.

      It did not take long for Baudelaire to abandon his revolutionary manifesto, and a number of years later he wrote: "Dupont owed his first poems to the grace and feminine delicacy of his nature. It permit- ted him to announce the latitude which was at his disposal as a man of letters.

      In this he was ahead of the writers of his time, including the greatest. This makes it evident in what respects he was above the literary activity which surrounded him. For a century and a half, the literary life of the day had been cen- tered around journals.

      Toward the end of the third decade of the century, this began to change. The feuilleton provided a market for belles-lettres in the daily newspaper. Anyone who could not pay the high priCe of eighty francs for a year's subscription had to go to a cafe, where often several peo- ple stood around reading one copy. Girardin's paper, La Presse, played a decisive part in this rise. At the same time, short, abrupt news items began to com- pete with detailed reports.

      These news items caught on because they could be employed commercially. The so-called reclame paved the way for them; this was an apparently independent notice which was actually paid for by a publisher and which appeared in the editorial section of the newspaper, referring to a book that had been adver- tised the day before or in the same issue.

      As early as , Sainte- Beuve complained about the demoralizing effect of the reclame: "How could they damn a product [in a critical review] when the same product was described two inches below as being a wonder of the age?

      The attraction of the ever larger type-size in which advertise- ments were printed gained the upper hand; they constituted a mag- netic mountain which deflected the compass. It is virtually impossible to write a history of infor- mation separately from a history of the corruption of the press. These informative items required little space. They, and not the political editorials or the serialized novels, enabled a newspaper to have a different look everyday-an appearance that was cleverly var- ied when the pages were made up and constituted part of the paper's attractiveness-.

      These items had to be constantly replenished. City gossip, theatrical intrigues, and "things worth knowing" were their most popular sources. Their intrinsic cheap elegance, a quality that became so characteristic of the feuilleton section, was in evidence from the beginning.

      Monsieur Daguerre need not worry; no one is going to steal his secret from him. When there were only the large, serious papers, The cocktail hour is the logical consequence of the 'Paris timetable' and of city gossip. When the electric telegraph came into use toward the end of the Second Empire, the boulevards lpst their monopoly. News of accidents and crimes could now be ob- tained from all over the world. The assimilation of a man of letters to the society in which he lived took place on the boulevard, in the following way.

      On the bou- levard, he kept himself in readiness for the next incident, witticism, or rumor. There he unfolded the full drapery of his connections with tolleagues and men-about-town, and he was as much dependent on their results as the cocottes were on their disguises. He behaved as if he had learned from Marx that the value of a commodity is determined by the worktime needed from society to produce it.

      In view of the pro- tracted periods of idleness which in the eyes of the public were nec- essary for the realization of his own labor power, its value became al- most fantastic. This high valuation was not limited to the public. There was in fact. In or- der to obtain as many advertisements as possible, the quarter-page which had become a poster had to be seen by as many subscribers as possible. It was necessary to have a lure which was directed at all re- gardless of their private opinion and which replaced politics with cu- riosity Once the point of departure existed the subscription rate of 40 francs , there was an almost inevitable progression from adver- tisements to serialized novels.

      In , Dumas signed a contract with Le Constitutionnel and La Presse guaranteeing him a minimum an- nual payment of 63, francs for supplying" at least eighteen install- ments a year. He received 6oo,ooo francs for his Histoire des Girondins, which first appeared in the feuilleton section.

      When publishers acquired manu- scripts, they occasionally reserved the right to print them under the name of a writer of their choice. This was predicated on the fact that some successful novelists were not fussy about the use of their names. Some details about this. Does he know them him- self? Unless he keeps a ledger with a 'Debit' and a 'Credit' si9e, he surely has forgotten more than one of his legitimate, illegitimate, or adopted children. As late as , ten years after this com- mentary by the great review, a small organ of the boheme printed the following picturesque scene from the life of a successful novelist whom the author calls de Sanctis: "When he arrived horne, Monsie.

      There sat a man with disheveled hair who looked sullen - but obsequious and had a long goose-quill in his hand. Even from a distance, it was apparent he was a born novelist, though he was only a former ministry-employee who had learned the art of Balzac from reading Le Constitutionnel. He is the real author of The Chamber of Skulls; he is the novelist. After a short time this regulation was rescinded, since the reactionary press laws which curtailed freedom of opinion enhanced the value of the feuil- leton.

      The generous remuneration for feuilletons coupled with their large market helped the writers who supplied them to build great reputations. It was natural for an individual to exploit his reputa- tion together with his financial resources; a political career opened up for him almost automatically; This led to new forms of corrup- tion, which were more consequential than the misuse of well-known writers' names.

      Once the political ambition of a writer had been aroused, it was natural for the regime to show him the right road. In Salvandy, the minister of colonies, invited Alexandre Dumas to take a trip to Tunis at government expense-estimated at 10,ooo francs-to publicize the colonies.

      Sue had more luck; on the strength of the success of his Mysteres de Paris, he not only increased the number of Le Consti- tutionnefs subscribers from 3,6oo to 2o,ooo, but was elected a deputy in with the votes of , Parisian workingmen. It was not much of a gain for the proletarian voters; Marx called his election "a sentimentally belittling commentary" 75 on the seats previously won.

      If literature was able to open a political career to favored writers, this career in turn may be used for a critical evaluation of their writings. Lamartine constitutes a case in point. Je vends rna grappe en fruit comme tu vends ta-fleur, Heureux quand son nectar, sous mon pied qui Ia foule, Dans mes to'nneaux nombreux en ruisseaux d'ambre coule, Produisant a son maitre ivre de sa cherte, Beaucoup d'or pour payer beaucoup de liberte!

      I sell my bunch of grapes as you sell your flowers, Happy when its nectar, under my foot which tramples it, Flows into my many casks in amber strealp. By the os, the situation of the sm3. Lamartine had helped to prepare the way for that vote. This may be due to the fact that he himself had always felt little splendor attaching to his own person. Porche believes it looks as though Baudelaire had no choice about where he could place his manuscripts. He was deal- ing with publishers who counted on the vanity of sophisticated peo- ple, amateurs, and beginners, and who accepted manuscripts only if a subscription was purchased.

      He offered the same manuscript to several papers at the same time and authorized reprints without indicating them as such. From his early period on, he viewed the literary mar- ket without any illusions. In he wrote: "No matter how beautiful a house may be, it is primarily, and before one dwells on its beauty, so-and-so many meters high and so-and-so many meters long.

      In the same way, literature, which constitutes the most inestimable sub- stance, is primarily a matter of filling up lines; and a literary archi- tect whose mere name does not guarantee a profit must sell at aw. It has been calculated that he earned no more than 15, francs from all his writings.

      Murger is dying in a sanatorium, as is now Baudelaire. And not one of these writers has been a socialist! Baude- laire surely deserved the recognition intended by the last sentence. But this does not mean that he lacked insight into the true situation of a man of letters.

      He often confronted the writer, first and foremost himself, with the figure of the whore. His sonnet to the venal muse- " La Muse venale"-speaks of this. His great introductory poem ''Au Lecteur" presents the poet in the unflattering position of someone who takes cold cash for his confessions. One of his earliest poems, which figures among those excluded from Les Fleurs du mal, is ad- dressed to a streetwalker.

      This is its second stanza: Pour avoir des souliers, elle a vendu son arne; Mais le bon Dieu rirait si, pres de cette infame, ]e tranchais du Tartufe et singeais la hauteur, Moi qui vends rna pensee et qui veux etre auteur. The Flaneur Once a writer had entered the marketplace, he looked around as if in panorarna. This is the genre of panoramic literature. Thus, these anthologies are products of the same collective belletristic en- deavor for which Girardin had provided an outlet in the feuilleton.

      They were the salon attire of a literature whicll was p. It was a petty-bourgeois After each human type had been covered, the physiology of the "city had its turn. Nor was the "physiology" of animals neglected, for animals have always been an innocuous. Innocuousness was of the essence.

      In his studies on the his, tory of caricature, Eduard Fuchs points out that the beginning of th physiologies coincided with the so-called September Laws, the tight ened censorship of Everything passed in re- Iview. Days of celebration and days of mourning, work and play,! But even in those days it was impossible to stroll about everywhere in the city.

      Before Hauss- mann, :wide pavements were rare; the narrow ones afforded little protection from vehicles. I repeat: a. The street becomes a dwelling place for the flaneur; he is as much at home among house fac;:ades as a citizen is within his four walls. These writings were socially dubious, as well. Such a view of one's fellow man was so remote from experience that there were bound to be uncommonly weighty motives for it.

      The reason was an uneasiness of a special sort. People had to adapt themselves to a new and rather strange situation, one that is peculiar to big cities. Simmel has provided an excellent formulation of what was involved here. In his Eugene Aram, Bulwer-Lytton orchestrated his description of big-city dwellers with a reference to Goethe's remark that each person, the most worthy as well as the most despicable, carries around a secret which would make him hateful to everyone else if it became known.

      They constituted, so to speak, the blinkers of the "nar- row-minded city animal" that Marx wrote about. But if a worker is idle, he will remain inac- cessible to the charms of. He no longer senses the choice fragrance of flowers. The smoke from the tall factory chimney, the booming blows on the anvil, make him tremble with joy. He remem- bers the happy days of his labors, which were guided by the spirit of the inventor.

      It was indeed the most obvious thing to give people a friendly picture of one another. Thus, the physiologies helped fashion the phantasmagoria of Parisian life in their own way. But their method could not get them very far. People knew one another as debtors and creditors, salesmen and customers, employers and employees, and above all as competitors.

      So these writings soon developed another view of the mat- ter which was much more bracing. They went back to the physiogno- mists of the eighteenth century, ,although they had little to do with the more solid endeavors of those earlier authors. In Lavater and Gall there was, in addition to speculative and visionary impulses, genuine empiricism. With such certainties, Balzac, more than anyone else, was in his element. They encouraged his pre- dilection for unqualified statements.

      LWhether a man grabs his victim on a boulevard or stabs his quarry in unknown woods-does he not remain both here and there the mOSt perfect of all beasts of prey? The word refers to someone who is cheated or fooled, and such a person is the antithesis of a connoisseur of human nature. The more alien a big city be- comes, the more knowledge of human nature-so it was thought- one needs to operate in it.

      In actuality, the intensified struggle for survival led an individual to make an imperious proclamation of his interests. When it is a matter of. The ability the fhlnelir prides himse1f on is, therefore, more likely to be one of the idols Bacon al- ready located in the marketplace. Baudelaire hardly paid homage to this idol. His belief in original sin made him immune to belief in a knowledge of human nature.

      He sided with de Maistre, who had combined a study of dogma with a study of Bacon. This literature, too, dealt with the masses, but its method was different from that of the physiologies. It cared little about the definition of types; rather, it investigated the functions which are peculiar to the masses in a big city. One of these claimed particular attention; it had been emphasized in a police report as early as the turn of the nineteenth century.

      Of all the menacing aspects of the masses, this one became apparent first. It lies at the origin of the de- tective story. In times of terror, when everyone is something of a conspirator, everybody will be in the position of having to play detective. Flanerie gives the individuai the best prospects of doing so. Baudelaire wrote: ''An observer is a prince who is everywhere in possession of his in- cognito.

      His indolence is only apparent, for behind this indolence there is the watchfulness of an observer who does not take his eyes off a miscre- ant. Thus, the detective sees rather wide areas opening up to his self- esteem. He develops reactions that are in keeping with the tempo of a big city. The hero of this book decides to go in search of adventure by following a scrap of paper which he has given to the wind as a plaything.

      No matter what traces the flaneur may follow, every one of them will lead him to a crime. This is an indication of hoy. It does not yet glorify the criminal, though it does glorify his adversaries and, above all, the hunting grounds where they pur- sue him. Messac has shown how writers have attempted to bring in echoes of Cooper. In the aforemen- tioned Mohicans de Paris, this display is in the very title; the author promises readers that he will open a primeval forest and a prairie for them in Paris.

      The woodcut used as a frontispiece in theLhird vol- ume shows. An abyss separates the two; across it flashes a spark of that electric light which has its source in Alexandre Dumas. Les Mysteres de Paris refers to Cooper in its opening pages, promising that its heroes from the Parisian underworld "are no less removed from civilization than the savages who are so splendidly depicted by Cooper.

      Jndians and detective stories. At an early date, there were objections to his "Mohicans in spencer jackets" and '1iw:,o. In short, they behave, as our prudish English. With his translations of these models, Baudelaire adopted the genre. Poe was one of the greatest technicians of modern literature. These genres he regarded as exact products of a method for which he claimed universal validity. Baudelaire sided with him on this point, and in Poe's spirit he wrote: "The time is approaching when it will be understood that a literature which refuses to proceed in brotherly concord with science and philosophy is a murderous and suicidallit- erature.

      Its analysis constitutes part of the analysis of Baudelaire's own work, despite the fact that Baudelaire wrote no stories of this type. Les Fleurs du mal incorporates three of its decisive elements as disjecta membra: the victim and the scene of the crime "Une Martyre" , the murderer "Le Vin de! The fourth element is lacking-the one that permits the Intellect to bre.

      Baudelaire wrote no detective story because, given the struc- ture of his drives, it was impossible for him to identify with the de- tective. Baudelaire was too good a reader of the Marquis de Sade to be able to compete with Poe. Poe con- cerns himself with this motif in detail in "The Mystery of Marie Ro- get," the longest of his detective stories. At the same time, this story is the prototype for the way journalistic information is used in solving crimes.

      Poe's detective, the Chevalier Dupin, here works not with personal observation but with reports from the daily press. The criti- cal analysis of these reports constitutes the scaffolding in the story. Among other things, the time of the crime has to be established. Poe writes: "It is impossible He passes to and fro, at regular intervals, within a confined periphery abounding in individuals who are led to observation of his person through interest in the kindred nature of his occupation with their own.

      But the walks of Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular instance it will be understood as most probable that she proceeded upon a route of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of Le Commer- cial would only be sustained in the event of the two individu- als traversing the whole city.

      In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal number of personal rencontres would be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as far more than probable, that Marie might have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known.

      If one disregards the context which gives rise to these reflections in Poe, the detective loses his competence but the problem does not lose its validity. La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait. Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse, Une femme passa, d'une main fastueuse Soulevant, balanc;:ant le feston et l'ourlet; Agile et noble, avec sa jambe de statue. Moi, je buvais, crispe comme un extravagant, Dans son oeil, ciellivide ou germe l'ouragan, La douceur qui fascine et le plaisir qui tue.

      Un eclair. Ailleurs, bien loin d'ici! Car j'ignore ou tu fuis, tu ne sais ou je vais, 0 toi que j'eusse aimee, 6 toi qui le savaisll 20 [The street around me roared, deafening. And as for me, twitching like one possessed, I drank From her eyes-livid sky brewing a storm- The sweetness that fascinates and the pleasure that kills. A lightning flash Elsewhere, very far from here! Too late! Perhaps never! For where you're off to I'll never know, nor do you know where I'm going- a you whom I could have loved, 0 you who knew it too!

      One may say that it deals with the function of the crowd not in the life of the citizen but in the life of the eroticist. At first glance this function appears to be a negative one, but it is not. Far from eluding the eroticist in the crowd, the apparition which fascinates him is brought to him by this very crowd. The delight of the city-dweller is not so much love at first sight as love at last sight.

      The word "jamais" marks the high point of the encounter, when the poet's passion seems to be frus- trated but in reality bursts out of him like a flame. He is seared by this flame, but no phoenix arises from it. The rebirth in the first tercet reveals a view of the event which in the light of the preceding stanza seems very problematic. In, reality, there is a profound gulf be- tween the quatrains which present the occurrence and the tercets which transfigure it.

      When Thibaudet says that these verses "could only have been written in a big city;' he does not penetrate beneath their surface. The inner form of these verses is revealed in the fact that they depict love itself as being stigmatized by the big city. It seeks such -compensation within its four walls-as if it were striving, as a matter of honor, to prevent the traces, if not of its days on earth then at least of its possessions and requisites of daily life, from disappearing forever.

      The bourgeoisie unabashedly makes impressions of a host of objects. It prefers velvet and plush covers, which preserve the impression of every touch. One must note that there are two sides to this process. The real or sentimental value of the objects thus pre- served is emphasized. They are removed from the profane gaze of nonowners; in particular, their outlines are blurred in a characteristic way. It is no accident that resistance to controls, something that be- comes second nature to asocial persons, displays a resurgence in the propertied bourgeoisie.

      You would probably like to remain un- known, so that you can carry on your little romances. But how can you manage this in a civilization which registers the departures and arrivals of coaches in public places, counts letters and stamps them when they are posted and again when they are delivered, assigns numbers to houses, and will soon have the whole country, down to the smallest plotofland, in its registers?

      The numbering of houses in the big cities may be used to document the progressive standardiza- tion. In proletarian neighborhoods, to be sure, this simple police measure had encountered resistance. As late as , the following was reported about Saint-Antoine, the carpenters' neighborhood: "If one asks an inhabitant of this suburb what his ad- dress is, he will always give the name of his house and not its cold, official number:' In the long run, of course, such resistance was of no avail against the government's effort to establish a multifarious web of registrations-a means of compensating for the elimination of traces that takes place when people disappear into the masses of the big cities.

      Baudelaire found this effort' as much of an encroach- ment as did any criminal. Trying to evade his creditors, he went to cafes or reading circles. So he roamed about in the city, which had long since ceased to be home for the flaneur. Every bed in which he lay became a "lit 'hasardeux"' for him. Crepet has counted four- teen Paris addresses for Baudelaire in the years to Technical measures had to come to the aid of the administrative control process.

      In the early days of the process of identification,! Photography made it possible! Since that time, there has been no end to the efforts to capf ture [dingfest machen] a man in his speech and actions. It does away with all the drapery that a crime represents. Only the armature remains: the pursuer, the crowd, and an unknown man who manages to walk through London in such a way that he always remains in the middle of the crowd.

      This unknown man is the flaneur. But Po. To Poe, the flaneur was, above all, someone who does not feel comfort- able in his own company: This is why he seeks out the crowd; the rea- son he hides in it is probably close at hand. Poe purposely blurs the difference between the asocial person and the flaneur. The harder a man is to find, the more suspicious he becomes. Refraining frop1 a prolonged pursuit, the narrator quietly slims up his insight as fol- lows: '"This old man is the embodiment and the spirit of crime: I said to myself.

      He is the man of the crowd. In both respects, the crowd stands out. This same spectacle is followed, in a well-known story by E. Hoff- mann, by the "cousin at his corner window. In the difference between the two observation posts lies the difference between Berlin and London. On the one hand, there is the man pf leisure. He sits in his alcove as in a box at the the,ater; when he wants to take a closer look at the marketplace, he has opera glasses at hand.

      On the other hand, there is the anony- mous consumer who enters a cafe and will shortly leave it again, at- tracted by the magnet of the mass which constantly has him in its range. A German petty bourgeois is subject to very arrow limits, yet Hoffmann by nature belonged to the family of the Poes and Baudelaires. He valued people--communication with them, ob- i. If he went for ;a walk in summer, something that he did every day toward evening in fine weather, there was hardly a wine tavern or a confectioner's shop that he did not look in on, to see whether any- one was inside and who might be there.

      But the toil and labor of writing, day after day, without that magic lantern, is immense. My figures seem disposed to stag- nate without crowds about them. There is nothing to see, and the streets are unusabk" iL. Poe, in the course of his story, lets darkness fall. He lingers over.

      The first gas lamps burned in the ar- j cades. The attempt to use them under the open sky was made in f I Baudelaire's childhood: candelabra-shaped lights were installed on f the Place Vend6me. Henceforth I shall see 1 no other light but that of the gas flame. In the heyday of the Second Empire, the shops in the main streets did not close before ten o'clock at night. It was the great age of noctambulisme.

      But he has no right to sleep. He muses particularly on the rhythm with which lamplighters would go through the streets and light one lamp after another. There can hardly be a more uncanny description of this light: "The rays of the gas lamps, feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had now at length gained ascendancy, and threw over every thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splendid-as that ebony to which has been likened the style of Tertullian.

      Its flickering, harsh"light offends the eye:' The London crowd seems as gloomy and confused as the light in which it moves. This is true not only of the rabble that crawls "out of its dens" at night. The clerks qf higher rank are described by Poe as follows: "They had all slighdy bald heads, from which the right ears, ong used to pen-holding, had an odd habit of standing off on end.

      I bserved that they always removed or settled their hats with both I ands, and wore watches, with short gold chains of a substantial and ncient pattern. The uniformities to which the petty bourgeois are sub- jected by virtue of being part of the crowd are exaggerated; their ap- pearance is not far from being uniform.

      Even more astonishing is the description of the way the crowd moves. By far the greater number of those-who went by had a satis- fied business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly; when pushed against by fellow-! Others, still a numerous class, were restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness of the company around.

      When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly ceased muttering, but redoubled their gesticulations, and awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon the lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If jostled, they bowed pro- fusely to the jostlers, and appeared overwhelmed with confu- sion. Actually, they were "noblemen, merchants, attorneys, tradesmen, stock-job- bers. Each man is dominated by his affect: one shows unrestrained joy; another, distrust of his partner; a third, dull despair; a fourth evinces belligerence; another is preparing to take leave of the world.

      In its extravagance, this lithograph is reminiscent of Poe. Poe's subject, to be sure, is greater, and his means are ir1 keep- ing with this. In the performance of a clown; there is an obvious reference to economic mechanisms. With his abrupt movements, he imitates both the machines which push the material and the economic boom which pushes the merchandise.. These goings-on seem jeven more dehumanized because Poe talks only about people.

      If the! In a mass of this nature, 1 Jflfmerie could never flourish. In Baudelaire's Paris, things had not yet come to such a pass. Ferries were still crossing the Seine at points where later there would be bridges. In the year of Baudelaire's death, an entrepreneur could still cater to the comfort of the well-to-do with a fleet of five hun- dred sedan chairs circulating about the city.

      Arcades, where the fla- neur would not be exposed to the sight of carriages-which scorned to recognize pedestrians as rivals-were enjoying undiminished popularity. There was the pedestrian who wedged himself into the I crowd, but there was also the flaneur who demanded elbow room II and was unwilling to forgo the life of a gentleman of leisure.

      He goes his leisurely way as a personality; in this manner he protests against the division of labor which makes people into specialists. Around it was briefly fash- ionable to take turtles for a walk in the arcades. The flaneurs liked to. But this attitude did not prevail. Taylor-who popularized the catch- phrase "Down with dawdling!

      Rattier wrote in in his utopia Paris n'existe pas: "The flaneur hom we used to encounter on the sidewalks and in front of shop- indows, this nonentity, this constant rubberneck, this inconsequen- ial type who was always in search of cheap emotions-and knew about nothing but cobblestones, fiacres, and gas lamps, He moves about like someone who knows his way around the place.

      Were there multilevel department stores in Poe's day? No matter; Poe lets the restless man spend an "hour and a half, or thereabouts" in this bazaar. A magnificent touch in Poe's story is that i not only contains the earliest description of the flaneur but also.

      Jules Lafargue said that Baudelaire was the first to speak of Paris "as someone condemned to live in the capital day after day. The crowd is not only the newest asylum of outlaws; it is also the latest narcotic for people who have been abandoned. The flaneur is some- one abandoned in the crowd.

      He is thus in the same situation as the commodity. The intoxication to L which the flaneur surrenders is the intoxication of the commodity! For him alone, all is open; and if certain places seem closed to him, it is because in his view they are not worth visit- ing. These objects are not interested iri this person; they do not empathize with him. It consists in th«:: charm displayed by addicts under the influence of drugs.

      When Baudelaire speaks of! And the holy prostltutwn of the soul," next to which "what people call love is quite small, quite limited, and quite feeble;' really can be nothing other than the prostitution of the commodity's soul-if the comparison with love retains its meaning. Baudelaire speaks of "cette sainte prostitution. They tried the secrets of the free market; in this respect, commodities had no advantage over them.

      Some of the commodity's charms were based on the mar- ket, and each of these turned into a means of power. And only the mass enables the sexual object to become intoxicated with the hundred stimuli which that object pro- duces. Not everyone found the spectacle offered by the crowds in big- city streets intoxicating. Long before Baudelaire wrote his prose poem "Les Foules;' Friedrich Engels had undertaken td describe the bustle in the streets of London.

      A city such as London, where a man might wander for hours at a time without reaching the beginning of the end, without meeting the slightest hint which could. This colossal centralization, this heaping together of two and a half million human beings in one place, has multiplied the power of this two and a half million a hundredfold. But the sacrifices which all this has cost become apparent later.

      The very turmoil of the streets has something repulsive about it, something against which hu- man nature rebels. The hundreds of thousands of people from every class and rank crowding past each other-are they not all human beings with the same qualities and powers, and with the same interest in being happy? And still they crowd by one another as though they had nothing in com- mon, nothing to do with one another, and their only agree- ment is the tacit one that each keep to his own side of the pavement, so as not to delay the opposing stream of the crowd, while no man thinks to honor another with so much as a glance.

      The brutal indifference, the unfeeling isolation of each within his private concerns, becomes the more repellent and offensive the more these individuals are crowded together in a limited space. Next to Engels' lucid description, it sounds obscure when Baudelaire writes: "The pleasure of being in a crowd is a mysterious expression of the enjoyment of the multiplication of number. To be sure, insofar as a person, as labor power, is a com- modity, there is no need for him to identify himself as such.

      But things had not yet reached that point with the class of the petty bourgeoisie to which Baudelaire belonged. On the scale we are dealing with here, this class was only at the beginf ning of its decline. Inevitably, many of its members would one day become aware of the commodity nature of their labor power. But this day had not yet come; until then, they were permitted if one j may put it this way to pass the time. The very fact that their share co2.!

      It was self-evident, however, that the more this class wanted to have its enjoyment in this society, the more limited this enjoyment would be. The enjoyment promised to be less limited if this class found enjoyment of this society possi- ble. If it wanted to achieve virtuosity in this kind of enjoyment, it could not spurn empathizing with commodities. It had to enjoy this identification with all the pleasure and uneasiness which derived from a presentiment of its own determination as a class.

      Baudelaire, who in a poem to a courtesan called her heart "bruised like a peach, ripe like her body, for the lore of love;' possessed that sensitiV'ity. This is what made possible his enjoyment of society as someone who had already haif withdrawn from it. In the attitude of someone who enjoyed in this way, he let the spectacle of the crowd act on him.

      The deepest fascination of this spectacle lay in the fact that, even as it intoxicated him, it did not blind him to the horrible "Social reality. He remained conscious of it, though only in the way in which intoxicated people are "still" aware of reality. This is why in Baudelaire the big city almost never finds expression through a direct presentation of its inhabitants. The di- rectness and harshness with which Shelley captured London through the depiction of its people could not benefit Baudelaire's Paris.

      This veil is formed by the masses; it billows. That Hugo's strength lay here, if anywhere, was evident to Baudelaire. He praises the "carac- tere poetique One of the three po. Someone once remarked that "the crowd was unbearable" for the innovator Sainte-Beuve, and this was said appreciatively, a. On his walks along the coast, the topic took shape for him, thanks to one of the extreme an- titheses that were necessary for his inspiration. In Hugo, the crowd enters literature as an object of contemplation.

      The surging ocean is its model, and the thinker who reflects on this eternal spectaele is the true explorer of the crowd, in which he loses himself as he loses him- self in the roaring of the sea. Baudelaire did not feel inclined to follow the spectacle of nature.

      His experience of the crowd bore the traces of the "heartache and the thousand nat- ural shocks" which a pedestrian suffers in the bustle of a city and which keep his self-awareness all the more alert. Basically it is this very self-awareness that he lends to the strolling commodity. For Baudelaire, the crowd never was a stimulus to casting the plumb-line of his thought into the depths of the world. Hugo, on the other hand, writes, "Les profondeurs sont des multitt.

      The natural supernatural which af- fected Hugo in the form of the crowd shows itself in the forest, in the animal kingdom, and by the surging sea; in any of these places, the physiognomy of a big city can flash up for a few moments. La nuit avec Ia foule, en ce reve hideux, Venait, s'epaississant ensemble toutes deux, Et, dans ces regions que nul regard ne sonde, Plus l'homme etait nombreux, Plus 1' ombre etait profonde. Those one has never seen, those one does not know.

      All the living! But it is not nature alone which exercises its rights in this way. There is an astonishing place in Les Miserables where the web of the woods appears as the archetype of mass existence. The tree trunks and the underbrush, the weeds, the inextricably entwined branches, and the tall grasses lead an obscure kind of existence. In- visible things flit through the teeming immensity. What is below hu- man beings perceives, through a fog, that which is above them.

      In the crowd, that which is below a person comes in contact with what holds sway above him. This promiscuity encom- passes all others. In Hugo, the crowd appears as a bastard form which shapeless, superhuman powers create from those creatures that are below human beings. In the visionary strain that runs through Hugo's conception of the crowd, social reality gets its due more than it does in the "realistic" treatment which he gave the crowd in politics. For the crowd really is a spectacle of nature-if one may apply t;his term.

      Their models are tlle. This existence conceals the really monstrous thing about them: that the concentration of private per- sons as such is an accident resulting from their private concerns. But it left its imprint on his work as a strange distortion: a set of spiritualistic protocols.

      Hugo's contact with the spirit world-which, as we know, pro- foundly affected both his life and his writing on the Isle of Jersey- was, strange though this may seem, primarily a contact with the masses, which the poet necessarily missed in exile: For the crowd is the spirit world's mode of existence. Thus, Hugo saw himself primar- ily as a genius in a great assembly of geniuses who were his ancestors. In his William Shakespeare, he devoted one rhapsodic page after an- other to the procession of those aristocrats of the intellect, begin- ning with Moses and ending with Hugo.

      But they constitute only a SI:Dall group in the tremendous multitude of the departed. To Hugo's chthonian mind, the ad plures ire of the Romans was not an empty phrase. Hugo's Jersey notes have preserved their mes- sages: Every great man works on two works: the work he creates as a living person and his spirit-work. A living man devotes him- self to the first work. But in the deep still of the night, the spirit-creator-oh, horror! The spirit-creator sees the phantom idea.

      Wateh out, living person, man of a century, you vassal of an idea that comes from the earth. For this is madness, this is the grave, this is infinity, this is a phantom idea. He felt truly at home in the spirit. One could say that it was the cosmic complement of a house- hold that comprised horror as an integral part. His intimate acquain- tance with the apparitions removes much of their frightening quality. Such intimacy is not without its labored quality and brings out the threadbare nature of the apparitions.

      The counterparts of these noc- turnal ghosts are the meaningless abstractions-the more or less in- genious embodiments-that are inscribed on the monuments of that period. In the Jersey protocols, "Drama," "Poetry:' "Literature:' "Thought," and many 'other ten:ns of this type are often heard in conjunction with the voices of chaos. For Hugo, the immense throngs of the spirit world are-and this may bring the riddle closer to a solution-primarily an audience.

      The unstinting acclaim provided by the Beyond while he was in exile gave him a foretaste of the boundless acclaim that would await him at home in his old age. When, on his seventieth birthday, the population of the capital streamed toward his house on the ave- nue d'Eylau, the image of the wave surging against the cliffs was real- ized and the message of the spirit world was-fulfilled. In the final analysis, the impenetrable obscurity of mass existence was also the source of Victor Hugo's revolutionary speculations.

      Wasn't this perspective, rather, clear evi- dence of the limitation of such a judgment, no matter what its ori- gin? On November 25, , in a debate in the Chamber of Deputies, Hugo inveighed against Cavaignac's barbaric suppression of the June revolt. Hugo -never succeeded in fashioning a bridge between these two. He saw no need for such a bridge, and this explains the tremen- dous aspirations and scope of his work, and presumably also the tre- mendous influence of his oeuvre on his contemporaries.

      In the chap- ter of Les Miserables entitled ''L'Argot;' the two conflicting sides of his nature confront each other with impressive harshness. After a bold look into the linguistic workshop of the lower classes, the poet concludes by writing: "Since , the entire nation, as a people, has unfolded in the purified individual. There is no. Every poor wretch bears the honor of France inside him. The dignity of each citizen is an inner bulwark. Anyone who is free is conscientious, and everyone who has the vote rules.

      He was the first great writer whose works have collective titles: Les Miserables, Les Travailleurs de la mer. To him the crowd meant, almost in the ancient sense, the crowd of his constituents-that is, the masses of his readers and his voters. Hugo was, in a word, no flaneur.

      But this crowd did exist for Baudelaire. Every day, the sight of it caused him to plumbtlie depths of his failure, and this probably was not the least of the reasons he wanted to gaze at it. The desperate pride he thus felt-iQ bursts, as it were-was fed by the fame of Victor Hugo. He recognized the urban crowds and wanted to be flesh of their flesh.

      Secularism, Progress, and Democracy were inscribed on the banner. This banner transfigured mass existence. It was the canopy over the threshold which separated the individual from the crowd. Baudelaire guarded this threshold, and that differentiated him from Victor Hugo. But he resembled him too, since he, like Hugo, failed to see through the social semblance [Schein] which is precipitated in the crowd.

      He therefore placed it in opposition to a model which was as uncritical as Hugo's conception of the crowd. This model was the hero. While Victor Hugo was cele- brating the crowd as the hero of a modern epic, Baudelaire was seek- ing a refuge for the hero among the masses of the big city.

      Hugo placed himself in the crowd as a citoyen; Baudelaire divorced himself from the crowd as a hero. ModeriUlY Baudelaire patterned his image of the artist after an image of the hero. From the beginning, each is an advocate of the other. In "Salon de " he wrote: "The artist's will must be strongly developed, and always very fruitful, in order to give the stamp of uniqueness even to second-rate works.

      The viewer enjoys the effort, and his eye drinks the sweat. Barres claimed that he could recognize "in every little word by Baudelaire a trace of the toil that helped him achieve such great things. It is the metaphor of the fencer. Baudelaire was fond of using it to present martial elements as artistic elements.

      When he describes Constantin Guys, whom he admired, he captures him at a moment when everyone else is asleep. How Guys stands there "bent over his table, scrutinizing the sheet of paper just as intently as he does the objects around him by day; how he uses his pencil, his pen, his brush like a rapier, spurts water from his glass to the ceiling and tries his pen on his shirt; how he pursues his work swiftly and intensely, as though afraid that his images might escape him.

      Thus he is combat- ive, even when alone, and parries his own blows. The duel in which every artist is engaged and in which he "screams with fear before he is vanquished" is framed as an idyll; its violence re- cedes into the background and its charm is manifest.

      On ne peut pas savoir. Aujourd'hui sur la rive il lui a plu de laisser son corps d'homme et de se plonger dans les eaux profondes pour aller voir, que sais-je? En joie vogue la barque! Les quatre chefs de file sont tout blancs; ils portent le baile-charretier, qui a la direction des quatre-vingts chevaux des attelages. Avec ces crues subites qu'un tonnerre les creuse!

      A Maliven cependant a fait halte la grande cavalerie, et le Caburle dans les taillis vient d'allonger sa proue, les sept barques ensemble. Et le timon, l'entendiez-vous grincer? Et les mains, sentez-vous comme elles sont rugueuses? C'est du vent, tout cela! Avancez les bateaux Baile, tire couple par couple tes chevaux: nous allons embarquer les premiers; dans les creux les autres les suivront Y est-on? Fais tirer le Robin!

      Touche le More! Maintiens le Bayard, qu'il ne se noie pas! Entends-tu souffler le mistral? C'est la musique majestueuse qui annonce nos noces! Dieu de Dieu! Sortez les olives charnues Et brouillez un bon saupiquet: Si nous avons les braies de cuir, Y a ce qu'il faut dans le gousset. Mais les bateliers s'interposent d'un bond. Et fais tirer la maille! Hue, grand coquin! Du signe de la croix qui le conjure se peut-il que le Drac docilement subisse l'outrageuse vertu?

      Et fais tirer! Il a de beaux chevaux! Voyez donc comme il sille! Le monde vire Lyon est loin—et qui a temps a vie. Et en avant! Et fais tirer la maille, mille dieux! O malheureux! Mais vainement! Un grand cri monte Et de nager, cherchant le prince; et de plonger, cherchant l'Anglore. Mon beau cheptel! Une si belle flotte! Et nous pouvions bien tous nous engloutir Lorsque les barques devant le Malatra faisaient descise, ah!

      Note 1. Voir Mireille , chant V. Valentin , autrefois, se disait pour «soupirant» dans plusieurs provinces de France. Rouanesse , quartier de Beaucaire, dans lequel on retrouve le nom de Rhodanusia , ancienne colonie grecque. Amount la pro! E canto, gau! Dis, adavau ta voulounta se fague Coume adamount! Lou pan quoutidian nostre, Dis, vuei porge-nous-lou! Ansin siegue! Es Vernesoun. Li gargassoun asseda di bevisto. Jiton l'ancro. Bono aventuro!

      La baisso lis atiro. Sant Micoulau, patroun de la ribiero, Nous garde longo-mai! Sacre couquin! Es un brave travai! De boimo coumo aquelo soun astrugo E porton lou bonur ounte i'agrado Que l'Angloro es poulido e que t'agrado? Lis escouto pas mai que se siblavon. N'en vos de cant? I'a cinquanto an, au plus pau, que barqueje, E n'ai vist de la touto. Fai bon dourmi. Antan nis de baroun, vuei nis de nible. Mai au Caburle, aquito, de que parlon? Que, Jan Rocho? Me languisse. Sian pas jalous. Quand me rapelle!

      Me lis a fa peri dins si bataio. A l'empento! Sa bourso elo desblouco: —Veici toun pagamen. Arpaiaire, pescaire, emai cassaire Ounte es toun paire? Patin, coufin. N'as de burre? L'ai toujour ausi dire: souto Rose Ai! E davalavo. Uno michour, uno frescour tebeso D'un imourous chalun l'agouloupavo.

      O paradis de l'amo creserello! Ounte n'erian? Car lis amour van vite, Uno fes dins la nau que lis emporto, Predestina, sus lou flot. De ma principauta mourganatico D'Aurenjo, tu, siegues la fabulouso Oundino, siegues la fado Mourgano! Aura begu, pauro! Aqui, parai? Li vai decebre avau que fadejavon. Mescla, soun sang regolo! Es Avignoun e lou Palais di Papo! Avignoun sus sa grand Roco! E vuei cantan, coume li cacalauso Que soun oustau se brulo.

      Mai i'a pertout si remudo-remudo Fau s'avisa! A la sapino! Buto la sisselando! Lou jo, segnour, noun demando que fauto. Arregardas la bleto que se trosso Me l'an proun di que, traite coume l'aigo, Quand nous as pivelado, nous embules Plouro que plouraras! Crido Patroun Apian, que sian au rode Dis auve mouvedis e di graviero Dirias que soun calu, bougre de bougre! Mai ve, dequ'as? E vogo la barcado Li verganiero fan si rebatudo O Margarido! Mai verai!

      E n'i'a! Faran tampino E danson li jusiolo qu'an aducho, Tirassejant si pantoufleto jauno, Au brut di castagnolo, sus cuberto, E canton e narrejon si sansogno. E quau a fa lou cop? La fiero es au declin. Mourira pas d'aquelo. E brame lou Rouan, en Rouanesso! En joio Barquejen longo-mai! E van se jaire.

      En endihant vers lis ego palustro E gravachant la terro de si bato, Oh! A Tarascoun, i'an douna la civado. E fa tira davans! Li rancaredo afrouso que l'enmuron? Se desencolo, S'arribo li chivau long di broutiero. E lou timoun, l'ausias coume renavo? Fa tira lou Roubin!

      Toco lou Mouro! E fa tira la maio! La mistralado Rounflo toujour. I'aura dounc jamai res, o Manjo-fango, Que tapara lou trau de mounte sortes? I, capounas! E fa tira!

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