That he failed in trying to love one woman is as certain as his disillusion after he had possessed her; that, in regard to Jeanne Duval, she was to him simply a silent instrument that, by touching all the living strings of it, he awakened to a music that is all his own; that whether this “masterpiece of flesh” meant more to him than certain other women who inspired him in different ways; whether he thirsted to drain her “empty kiss” or the “empty kiss” of Rachel, of Marguerite, of Gabrielle, of Judith, is a matter of but little significance. A man’s life such as his is a man’s own property and the property of no one else. And Baudelaire’s conclusion as to any of these might be, perhaps, summed up in this stanza:
“Your sweet, scarce lost estate
Of innocence, the candour of your eyes,
Your child-like, pleased surprise,
Your patience: these afflict me with a weight
As of some heavy wrong that I must share
With God who made, with man who found you, fair.”
“In more ways than one do men sacrifice to the rebellious angels,” says Saint Augustine; and Beardsley’s sacrifice, along with that of all great decadent art, the art of Rops or of Baudelaire, is really a sacrifice to the eternal beauty, and only seemingly to the powers of evil.
—from Baudelaire: A Study by Arthur Symons (1865–1945). Symons’ critical biography of Baudelaire was one of the first book-length treatments of the great poet’s life in English.