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From Shakespeare to De Heredia and Henri Houssaye, artists and historians have described with sympathy, even almost idealised, this passion that throws away in a lightning flash every human greatness, to pursue the mantle of a fleeing woman; they find in the follies of Antony something profoundly human that moves them, fascinates them, and makes them indulgent.
A red-bearded, flat-capped, dirty fellow in bare feet, holding a bayoneted rifle with a jaunty clumsiness, accosted Señor Heredia with a laughing voice. He was a sentinel of the provisional government established in Malaga. The nature of that government may be judged from his frank avowal: "We've no police no anything."
By FRANCOIS COPPEE With a Preface by JOSE DE HEREDIA, of the French Academy FRANCOIS EDOUARD JOACHIM COPPEE was born in Paris, January 12, 1842. After the father's death, the young man himself entered the governmental office with its monotonous work. In the evening he studied hard at St. Genevieve Library. From this period dates the reputation of Coppee he woke up one morning a "celebrated man."
The essay on José-Maria de Hérédia in First and Last is a remarkable example of these, a remarkable analysis of a poet who is, if not obscure, at least reticent and difficult to like, and in whom Mr. Belloc sees the recapturer of "the secure tradition of an older time." And this essay relates the spirit of a poet to the general conception of Europe and its destiny. Such a relation is rare.
Lope de Mendoza and Pedro de Heredia, with a good many others, were made prisoners and Carvajal immediately ordered these two chiefs, and six or seven other principal persons among the royalists to be beheaded.
Pensivement was replaced by some similar four-syllable adverb, Elle tirait nonchalamment les bas de soie, etc. It was the beginning of the end. I read the French poets of the modern school Coppée, Mendés, Léon Diex, Verlaine, José Maria Hêrédia, Mallarmé, Richepin, Villiers de l'Isle Adam.
In many ways akin to the art of Hérédia, they show a less classical attitude toward their subject-matter, and are frankly experimental approaches to the method of evocation by sounds and perfumes which he achieved so successfully in his later Japanese books.
No other nation, perhaps, except the modern French, so inherit the romantic appetite of the later Roman Empire as to be able to mould and absorb every exterior element of excellence. It is remarkable that at the same moment Paris contemplated the funeral of the Italian de Brazza and the death of the Cuban Heredia.
These words of Maupassant to Jose Maria de Heredia on the occasion of a memorable meeting are, in spite of their morbid solemnity, not an inexact summing up of the brief career during which, for ten years, the writer, by turns undaunted and sorrowful, with the fertility of a master hand produced poetry, novels, romances and travels, only to sink prematurely into the abyss of madness and death. . . . .
How anyone could bring himself to acknowledge the vulgar details of our vulgar age I could not understand. The fiery glory of José Maria de Hérédia, on the contrary, filled me with enthusiasm ruins and sand, shadow and silhouette of palms and pillars, negroes, crimson, swords, silence, and arabesques. Like great copper pans go the clangour of the rhymes.
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