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Updated: June 25, 2025
The royal magnificences of the sunset have passed, the solemn beatitude of the night is at hand but not yet here; the ways are veiled with shadow, and lit with dresses, white, that the hour has touched with blue, yellow, green, mauve, and undecided purple; the voices? strange contraltos; the forms? not those of men or women, but mystic, hybrid creatures, with hands nervous and pale, and eyes charged with eager and fitful light ... "un soir équivoque d'automne," ... "les belles pendent rêveuses
But in this collection had been gathered certain poems resurrected from defunct reviews: le Demon de l'analogie, la Pipe, le Pauvre enfant pale, le Spectacle interrompu, le Phenomene futur, and especially Plaintes d'automne and Frisson d'hiver which were Mallarme's masterpieces and were also celebrated among the masterpieces of prose poems, for they united such a magnificently delicate language that they cradled, like a melancholy incantation or a maddening melody, thoughts of an irresistible suggestiveness, pulsations of the soul of a sensitive person whose excited nerves vibrate with a keenness which penetrates ravishingly and induces a sadness.
Of "Les Feuilles d'Automne" and "Les Chants du Crépuscule" I remember nothing. Ten lines, fifty lines of "La Légende des Siècles," and I always think that it is the greatest poetry I have ever read, but after a few pages I invariably put the book down and forget it.
This becomes obvious when one visits an exhibition such as the Salon d'Automne or Les Indépendants, where there are hundreds of pictures in the Post-Impressionist manner, many of which are quite worthless. These, one realises, are bad in precisely the same way as any other picture is bad; their forms are insignificant and compel no aesthetic reaction.
And recently I have transcribed some fine Russian things Gretchaninoff's Chant d'Automne, Karagitscheff's Exaltation, Tschaikovsky's Humoresque, Balakirew's Chant du Pechêur, and Poldini's little Poupée valsante, which Maud Powell plays so delightfully on all her programs."
Everything characteristic of Verlaine was expressed in these adorable verses of the Fetes Galantes: Le soir tombait, un soir equivoque d'automne, Les belles se pendant reveuses a nos bras, Dirent alors des mots si specieux tout bas, Que notre ame depuis ce temps tremble et s'etonne
Probably the first of Orphic pictures was that produced by the quite authentic donkey who was induced to smear a canvas by lashing a tail duly dipped in paint. It was given a title as Orphic as the painting, was accepted by a jury anxious to find new forms of talent, and was hung in the Salon d'Automne.
"J'avais une colombe blanche, J'avais un blanc petit pigeon, Tous deux volaient, de branche en branche, Jusqu'au faîte de mon dongeon: Mais comme un coup de vent d'automne, S'est abattu l
Of "Les Feuilles d'Automne" and "Les Chants du Crépuscule" I remember nothing. Ten lines, fifty lines of "Les Légendes des Siècles," and I always think that it is the greatest poetry I have ever read, but after a few pages the book is laid down and forgotten.
Through the salon d'automne Roger Fry is becoming known; and there is a good deal of curiosity about the work of Duncan Grant, and some about that of Mark Gertler and Vanessa Bell. Now, of these, Sickert and Steer are essentially, and in no bad sense, provincial masters.
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