Wild(e) Love Life
For those of you who still think romanticism and the poetical
living is about fluff, doves and daisies, and a weakness of the heart, here is an update:
Gerard de Nerval: he committed suicide during the night of
January 26, 1855, hanging himself from a sewer grating in a narrow street named
Rue de la Vieille-Lanterne. He left a brief note to his aunt: "Do not wait
up for me this evening, for the night will be black and white."
Charles Baudelaire: He smoked opium, and in Brussels he
began to drink to excess. Baudelaire suffered a massive stroke in 1866 and paralysis
followed. After more than a year of aphasia, he received the last rites of the
Catholic Church. The last two years of his life
were spent, in a semi-paralyzed state, in "maisons de santé" in
Brussels and in Paris, where he died on August 31, 1867.
Edgar Allan Poe: On October 3, 1849, Poe was found on the
streets of Baltimore delirious, "in great distress, and... in need of
immediate assistance", according to the man who found him, Joseph W.
Walker. He was taken to the Washington Medical College, where he died on
Sunday, October 7, 1849, at 5:00 in the morning. Poe was never coherent long enough to
explain how he came to be in his dire condition, and, oddly, was wearing
clothes that were not his own. Poe is said to have repeatedly called out the
name "Reynolds" on the night before his death, though it is unclear
to whom he was referring. Some sources say Poe's final words were "Lord help
my poor soul."
Alfred Jarry: he had
discovered the pleasures of alcohol, which he called "my sacred herb"
or, when referring to absinthe, the "green goddess". A story is told
that he once painted his face green and rode through town on his bicycle in its
honour (and possibly under its influence). He lived in his 'pataphysical world'
until his death in Paris on 1 November 1907 of tuberculosis, aggravated by drug
and alcohol use. It is recorded that his last request was for a toothpick.
Arthur Rimbaud: Rimbaud and Verlaine led a wild, vagabond-like life spiced by absinthe and hashish. The Parisian literary coterie was scandalized by Rimbaud, whose behaviour was that of the archetypal enfant terrible, yet throughout this period he continued to write striking, visionary verse. Their stormy relationship eventually brought them to London in September 1872, a period over which Rimbaud would later express regret. During this time, Verlaine abandoned his wife and infant son (both of whom he had abused in his alcoholic rages). In England they lived in considerable poverty in Bloomsbury and in Camden Town, scraping a living mostly from teaching, plus an allowance from Verlaine's mother. Rimbaud spent his days in the Reading Room of the British Museum where "heating, lighting, pens and ink were free". The relationship between the two poets grew increasingly bitter.
And my favorite:
Oscar Wilde: "This poverty really breaks one's heart:
it is so sale, so utterly depressing, so hopeless. Pray do what you
can" he wrote to his publisher. He corrected and published An Ideal
Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest, the proofs of which
Ellmann argues show a man "very much in command of himself and of the
play" but he refused to write anything else "I can write, but have
lost the joy of writing". He spent much time wandering the Boulevards
alone, and spent what little money he had on alcohol. A series of embarrassing
encounters with English visitors, or Frenchmen he had known in better days,
further damaged his spirit. Soon Wilde was sufficiently confined to his hotel
to remark, on one of his final trips outside, "My wallpaper and I are
fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go." On 12 October 1900 he sent a telegram to Ross:
"Terribly weak. Please come." His moods fluctuated; Max Beerbohm
relates how their mutual friend Reginald 'Reggie' Turner had found Wilde very
depressed after a nightmare. "I dreamt that I had died, and was supping
with the dead!" "I am sure", Turner replied, "that you must
have been the life and soul of the party." Turner was one of the very few
of the old circle who remained with Wilde right to the end, and was at his
bedside when he died.
Kiss kiss – Good night!
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