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I was very indignant, and told him so, and said, "Est-ce que tous les poetes sont fous a cette heure de la soiree?" "Vous voyez," he retorted, "you are not only blasee; you are sarcastic." I enjoyed my dinner immensely in spite of being blasee, and Gautier's fun and amusing talk lasted until we were back in the salon. The Emperor approached us while we were still laughing, and began to talk to us.
"Now, Miss Nancy, what have you to say to these charges?" "I never picked up a paper, Mr. President," said Nancy firmly. "On my return home to-night from Gautier's I found a message from my old mammy, Aunt Polly, saying she was very ill and that she needed me. She lives in that house with her son, who is the caretaker during Mr. Perry's absence. So I..."
And yet the wealth and precision of Gautier's and Hugo's language fail to endow their landscapes with the striking charm and intense life which are to be found in those of Loti. I can find no other reason for this than that which I have suggested above: the landscape, in Hugo's and in Gautier's scenes, is a background and nothing more; while Loti makes it the predominating figure of his drama.
"Release Miss Newton," he ordered sternly. "Then tell your story in detail." Reluctantly Lloyd did as he was told. "This young lady picked up a piece of paper in Gautier's which I knew contained valuable information. I have suspected her for some days of supplying the Confederates with our secrets; so I followed her here, and saw the signal light.
They set a positive value on the intense, the exceptional; and a certain distortion is sometimes noticeable in them, as in conceptions like Victor Hugo's Quasimodo, or Gwynplaine, something of a terrible grotesque, of the macabre, as the French themselves call it; though always combined with perfect literary execution, as in Gautier's La Morte Amoureuse, or the scene of the "maimed" burial-rites of the player, dead of the frost, in his Capitaine Fracasse true "flowers of the yew."
I was told to show you Mlle. Gautier's grave; here you have it. Is there anything else I can do for you?" "Do you know M. Armand Duval's address?" I asked. "Yes; he lives at Rue de ; at least, that's where I always go to get my money for the flowers you see there." "Thanks, my good man."
It is quite common for writers on the cat to say, "The story of Theophile Gautier's cats is too familiar to need comment." On the contrary, I do not believe it is familiar to the average reader, and that only those who know Gautier's "Menagerie In-time" in the original, recall the particulars of his "White and Black Dynasties." For this reason they shall be repeated in these pages. I use Mrs.
In Puvis de Chavannes they appear in a wholly novel combination; his classicism is absolutely unacademic, his romanticism unreal beyond the verge of mysticism, and so preoccupied with visions that he may almost be called a man for whom the actual world does not exist in the converse of Gautier's phrase. His distinction is wholly personal.
At the time of his first appearance in the Assembly he wore, as formerly did Théophile Gautier, a red waistcoat, and the shudder which Gautier's waistcoat caused among the men of letters in 1830, Gaston Dussoubs' waistcoat caused among the Royalists of 1851. M. Parisis, Bishop of Langres, who would have had no objection to a red hat, was terrified by Gaston Dussoubs' red waistcoat.
Any one who has read the brilliant Theophile Gautier's 'Club des Hachichens' or Bayard Taylor's experience at Damascus knows something of the effect of hashish, however. "In reconstructing the story of Georgette Gilbert, as best I can, I believe that she was lured to the den of one of the numerous cults practised in New York, lured by advertisements offering advice in hidden love affairs.
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