Baudelaire's prose poems: splendours and miseries of Parisian life

This article is taken from the

Figaro Hors-Série "Baudelaire, le spleen de la modernité"

Figaro Hors-Série “Baudelaire, the spleen of modernity”.

Le Figaro.

Paris, rue d'Amsterdam, Hôtel de Dieppe, fifth floor.

Baudelaire puts down his quill and stares at the wall of his room, his eyes haggard.

He has just written a sentence which will tarnish the reception of his

for a century

 :

Read also Baudelaire, a writer who worshiped images

This admission of helplessness will be fatal to its ultimate collection.

Published in 1869, two years after his death,

would be considered mediocre and sloppy.

Beautiful souls will look at these prose poems with condescension, will even feel a touch of pity for this poor poet lacking inspiration, ravaged by syphilis.

Some daring people will make this volume the "sketchbook" of the

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