George Sand [68]
de ses blanches brebis, Jai pense que, malgre notre angoisse et nos peines, Sous ces toits paternels il existait des haines, Et que des murs plus forts que ces murs mitoyens Separent ici-bas les coeurs des citoyens._
This was an appeal to concord, and all brothers of humanity were invited to rally to the watchword.
The intention was no doubt very good. Then, too, _murs mitoyens_ was an extremely rich and unexpected rhyme for _citoyens_. This was worthy indeed of a man of that party.
Another of the poems greatly admired by George Sand was _Le Forcat_.
_Regarder le forcat sur la poutre equarrie Poser son sein hale que le remords carie_. . .
Certainly if Banville were to lay claim to having invented rhymes that are puns, we could only say that he was a plagiarist after reading Charles Poncy.
In another poem addressed to the rich, entitled _L'hiver_, the poet notices with grief that the winter
. . . _qui remplit les salons, les Wdtres, Remplit aussi la Morgue et les amphitheatres._
He is afraid that the people will, in the end, lose their patience, and so he gives to the happy mortals on this earth the following counsel:
_Riches, a vos plaisirs faites participer L'homme que les malheurs s'acharnent a frapper Oh, faites travailler le pere de famille, Pour qu'il puisse arbiter la pudeur de sa fille, Pourqu'aux petits enfants maigris par les douleurs Il rapporte, le soir, le pain et non des pleurs, Afin que son epouse, au desespoir en proie, Se ranime a sa vue et l'embrasse avec joie, Afin qua l'Eternel, a l'heure de sa mort. Vous n'offriez pas un coeur carie de remords_.
The expression certainly leaves much to be desired in these poems, but they are not lacking in eloquence. We had already had something of this kind, though, written by a poet who was not a bricklayer. He, too, had asked the rich the question following:
_Dans vos fetes d'hiver, riches, heureux du monde, Quand le bal tournoyant de ses feux vous inonde. . . Songez-vous qu'il est la, sous le givre et la neige, Ce pere sans travail que la famine assiege?_
He advises them to practise charity, the sister of prayer.
_Donnez afin qu'un jour, a votre derniere heure,
Contre tous vos peches vous ayez la Priere
D'un mendiant puissant au ciel_."
We cannot, certainly, expect Poncy to be a Victor Hugo. But as we had Victor Hugo's verses, of what use was it for them to be rewritten by Poncy? My reason for quoting a few of the fine lines from _Feuilles d'automne_ is that I felt an urgent need of clearing away all these platitudes. Poncy was not the only working-man poet. Other trades produced their poets too. The first poem in _Marines_ is addressed to Durand, a poet carpenter, who introduces himself as "_Enfant de la foret qui ceint Fontainebleau_."
This man handled the plane and the lyre, just as Poncy did the trowel and the lyre.
This poetry of the working-classes was to give its admirers plenty of disappointment. George Sand advised Poncy to treat the things connected with his trade, in his poetry. "Do not try to put on other men's clothes, but let us see you in literature with the plaster on your hands which is natural to you and which interests us," she said to him.
Proud of his success with the ladies of Paris, Poncy wanted to wash his hands, put on a coat, and go into society. It was all in vain that George Sand beseeched Poncy to remain the poet of humanity. She exposed to him the dogma of impersonality in such fine terms, that more than one _bourgeois_ poet might profit by what she said.
"An individual," she said, "who poses as a poet, as a pure artist, as a god like most of our great men do, whether they be _bourgeois_ or aristocrats, soon tires us with his personality. . . . Men are only interested in a man when that man is interested in humanity."
This was all of no use, though, for Poncy was most anxious
This was an appeal to concord, and all brothers of humanity were invited to rally to the watchword.
The intention was no doubt very good. Then, too, _murs mitoyens_ was an extremely rich and unexpected rhyme for _citoyens_. This was worthy indeed of a man of that party.
Another of the poems greatly admired by George Sand was _Le Forcat_.
_Regarder le forcat sur la poutre equarrie Poser son sein hale que le remords carie_. . .
Certainly if Banville were to lay claim to having invented rhymes that are puns, we could only say that he was a plagiarist after reading Charles Poncy.
In another poem addressed to the rich, entitled _L'hiver_, the poet notices with grief that the winter
. . . _qui remplit les salons, les Wdtres, Remplit aussi la Morgue et les amphitheatres._
He is afraid that the people will, in the end, lose their patience, and so he gives to the happy mortals on this earth the following counsel:
_Riches, a vos plaisirs faites participer L'homme que les malheurs s'acharnent a frapper Oh, faites travailler le pere de famille, Pour qu'il puisse arbiter la pudeur de sa fille, Pourqu'aux petits enfants maigris par les douleurs Il rapporte, le soir, le pain et non des pleurs, Afin que son epouse, au desespoir en proie, Se ranime a sa vue et l'embrasse avec joie, Afin qua l'Eternel, a l'heure de sa mort. Vous n'offriez pas un coeur carie de remords_.
The expression certainly leaves much to be desired in these poems, but they are not lacking in eloquence. We had already had something of this kind, though, written by a poet who was not a bricklayer. He, too, had asked the rich the question following:
_Dans vos fetes d'hiver, riches, heureux du monde, Quand le bal tournoyant de ses feux vous inonde. . . Songez-vous qu'il est la, sous le givre et la neige, Ce pere sans travail que la famine assiege?_
He advises them to practise charity, the sister of prayer.
_Donnez afin qu'un jour, a votre derniere heure,
Contre tous vos peches vous ayez la Priere
D'un mendiant puissant au ciel_."
We cannot, certainly, expect Poncy to be a Victor Hugo. But as we had Victor Hugo's verses, of what use was it for them to be rewritten by Poncy? My reason for quoting a few of the fine lines from _Feuilles d'automne_ is that I felt an urgent need of clearing away all these platitudes. Poncy was not the only working-man poet. Other trades produced their poets too. The first poem in _Marines_ is addressed to Durand, a poet carpenter, who introduces himself as "_Enfant de la foret qui ceint Fontainebleau_."
This man handled the plane and the lyre, just as Poncy did the trowel and the lyre.
This poetry of the working-classes was to give its admirers plenty of disappointment. George Sand advised Poncy to treat the things connected with his trade, in his poetry. "Do not try to put on other men's clothes, but let us see you in literature with the plaster on your hands which is natural to you and which interests us," she said to him.
Proud of his success with the ladies of Paris, Poncy wanted to wash his hands, put on a coat, and go into society. It was all in vain that George Sand beseeched Poncy to remain the poet of humanity. She exposed to him the dogma of impersonality in such fine terms, that more than one _bourgeois_ poet might profit by what she said.
"An individual," she said, "who poses as a poet, as a pure artist, as a god like most of our great men do, whether they be _bourgeois_ or aristocrats, soon tires us with his personality. . . . Men are only interested in a man when that man is interested in humanity."
This was all of no use, though, for Poncy was most anxious