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Updated: May 25, 2025
The instincts of genius are unfathomable? but he who has known the white northern women with their pure spiritual eyes, will aver that instinct led him aright. I have known one, one whom I used to call Seraphita; Coppée knew her too, and that exquisite volume, "L'Exilé," so Seraphita-like in the keen blonde passion of its verse, was written to her, and each poem was sent to her as it was written.
After dinner I went two steps off, to Marc Monnier's, to hear the "Luthier de Cremone," a one-act comedy in verse, read by the author, Francois Coppee. It was a feast of fine sensations, of literary dainties. For the little piece is a pearl. It is steeped in poetry, and every line is a fresh pleasure to one's taste.
The subject of "Evangeline" was suggested to Longfellow by Hawthorne; and if the great prose poet had written the story himself, it would not have differed essentially in material or in structural method from the narrative as we know it through the medium of the verse romancer. François Coppée has composed admirable short-stories in verse as well as in prose.
It continually changes according to circumstances, the state of expectancy and the ecstasy of the mind. I will call attention to one example. Another poet, Francois Coppee, has written a line which we all remember, a line which we find delightful, which moves our very hearts.
Another difference between those two writers the comparison is always between their short stories is this, that while Sienkiewicz's figures and characters are universal, international if one can use this adjective here and can be applied to the students of any country, to the soldiers of any nation, to any wandering musician and to the light-keeper on any sea, the figures of François Coppée are mostly Parisian and could be hardly displaced from their Parisian surroundings and conditions.
Coppée, as may be imagined, I only was capable of appreciating in his first manner, when he wrote those exquisite but purely artistic sonnets "La Tulipe" and "Le Lys." In the latter a room decorated with daggers, armour, jewellery and china is beautifully described, and it is only in the last line that the lily which animates and gives life to the whole is introduced.
The small columns of the porch gave it the name of the tempietto, or little temple, while several personages dear to litterateurs had lived there, from the landscape painter Claude Lorrain to the poet Francois Coppee.
Coppée had striven to simplify language; he had versified the street cries, Achetez la France, le Soir, le Rappel; he had sought to give utterance to humble sentiments as in "Le Petit Epicier de Montrouge," the little grocer qui cassait le sucre avec mélancolie; Richepin had boldly and frankly adopted the language of the people in all its superb crudity.
On leaving my two friends I drove straight to Agar's to tell her what had happened. She kissed me over and over again, and a cousin of hers, a priest, who happened to be there, appeared to be very delighted with my story. He seemed to know about everything. Presently there was a timid ring at the bell, and Francois Coppee was announced.
Have I achieved a success, in the true, serious meaning of the word? I almost think so." The picture was called the "Meeting," and shows seven gamins talking together before a wooden fence at the corner of a street. François Coppée wrote of it: "It is a chef d'oeuvre, I maintain. The faces and the attitudes of the children are strikingly real.
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