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Enamels and Cameos and other Poems
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358 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1852
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344 people want to read
About the author
Théophile Gautier
2,252 books317 followersPierre Jules Théophile Gautier was a French poet, dramatist, novelist, journalist, and literary critic. In the 1830 Revolution, he chose to stay with friends in the Doyenné district of Paris, living a rather pleasant bohemian life. He began writing poetry as early as 1826 but the majority of his life was spent as a contributor to various journals, mainly for La Presse, which also gave him the opportunity for foreign travel and meeting many influential contacts in high society and in the world of the arts, which inspired many of his writings including Voyage en Espagne (1843), Trésors d'Art de la Russie (1858), and Voyage en Russie (1867). He was a celebrated abandonnée of the Romantic Ballet, writing several scenarios, the most famous of which is Giselle. His prestige was confirmed by his role as director of Revue de Paris from 1851-1856. During this time, he became a journalist for Le Moniteur universel, then the editorship of influential review L'Artiste in 1856. His works include: Albertus (1830), La Comédie de la Mort (1838), Une Larme du Diable (1839), Constantinople (1853) and L'Art Moderne (1856)
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
September 15, 2023
Fart for art’s sake
Can the poetry of the surface
Still be poetry after all?
Should one always be so serious
Like a dowager at a ball?
There are as many kinds of poems
As there is clothing for mankind
Various be the shapes and forms
Adorning Man front and behind
There’s the poem like a loincloth
Barely covering the essential
Or the spacesuit made of foil soft
As the hum of a space shuttle
But have you read sir Theophile?
A minor poet they now consider him
Judging from your TBR pile
I doubt if you have heard of him
Yet in his day he was a major
Talent acknowledged everywhere
Some would even make a wager
He wrote better than Baudelaire
(But that opinion seems absurd
A comment neither here nor there
Find me a young or ancient bird
Who can write better than Baudelaire)
Loincloth or spacesuit wore he neither
But more like Louis XIII
He sported broad-brimmed hats with feather
And fine doublets underneath
My brave Theo hath not aged well
And yet I love him all the same
Up on my bookshelf ranged pell-mell
I always smile to see his name
Minor schminor who gives a damn
I know of no French poet finer
To read when I am in a jam
Or after too much apple cider
So can the poetry of the surface
Still be poetry after all?
There is an answer I’m sure there is
Just what it is I can’t recall
February 23, 2018
Words like you have never read them! My dear and revered Theophile Gautier is the greatest poet ever. That's it! Poetry can only be read in the language it's been written. However, even though you don't understand French, the music of the words might be audible, if you're lucky... or musician! Let's listen to:
La rose thé by Théophile Gautier.
"La plus délicate des roses
Est, à coup sûr, la rose-thé.
Son bouton aux feuilles mi-closes
De carmin à peine est teinté.
On dirait une rose blanche
Qu'aurait fait rougir de pudeur,
En la lutinant sur la branche,
Un papillon trop plein d'ardeur.
Son tissu rose et diaphane
De la chair a le velouté ;
Auprès, tout incarnat se fane
Ou prend de la vulgarité.
Comme un teint aristocratique
Noircit les fronts bruns de soleil,
De ses soeurs elle rend rustique
Le coloris chaud et vermeil.
Mais, si votre main qui s'en joue,
A quelque bal, pour son parfum,
La rapproche de votre joue,
Son frais éclat devient commun.
Il n'est pas de rose assez tendre
Sur la palette du printemps,
Madame, pour oser prétendre
Lutter contre vos dix-sept ans.
La peau vaut mieux que le pétale,
Et le sang pur d'un noble cœur
Qui sur la jeunesse s'étale,
De tous les roses est vainqueur !"
Here's the man who made me love poetry.
No date of reading, I read Théophile Gautier since I was... 10 years old! In fact, on a desert island I would bring every thing he wrote: poems, novels, newspapers articles.
Les mots comme vous ne les avez jamais lus ! Mon cher et vénéré Théophile Gautier est le plus grand poète qui soit. Voilà, c'est dit !
La rose thé by Théophile Gautier.
"La plus délicate des roses
Est, à coup sûr, la rose-thé.
Son bouton aux feuilles mi-closes
De carmin à peine est teinté.
On dirait une rose blanche
Qu'aurait fait rougir de pudeur,
En la lutinant sur la branche,
Un papillon trop plein d'ardeur.
Son tissu rose et diaphane
De la chair a le velouté ;
Auprès, tout incarnat se fane
Ou prend de la vulgarité.
Comme un teint aristocratique
Noircit les fronts bruns de soleil,
De ses soeurs elle rend rustique
Le coloris chaud et vermeil.
Mais, si votre main qui s'en joue,
A quelque bal, pour son parfum,
La rapproche de votre joue,
Son frais éclat devient commun.
Il n'est pas de rose assez tendre
Sur la palette du printemps,
Madame, pour oser prétendre
Lutter contre vos dix-sept ans.
La peau vaut mieux que le pétale,
Et le sang pur d'un noble cœur
Qui sur la jeunesse s'étale,
De tous les roses est vainqueur !"
Here's the man who made me love poetry.
No date of reading, I read Théophile Gautier since I was... 10 years old! In fact, on a desert island I would bring every thing he wrote: poems, novels, newspapers articles.
Les mots comme vous ne les avez jamais lus ! Mon cher et vénéré Théophile Gautier est le plus grand poète qui soit. Voilà, c'est dit !
Read
May 20, 2023Des images d'une beauté à couper le souffle, comme le "sein neigeux d'azur veiné", "ces yeux qui sont tout un poème" ou encore "des lilas blancs de cimetière". Agilité linguistique incroyable, génie de la rime.
January 5, 2020
Hello! Bonjour. Everything goes well Just returned from my travels, first with my students and then from family obligations-celebrations Happy New Year . For this occasion I am putting in guise of review one poem by Gautier..a celebration of Christamas, a birth, a revival, a joyous and joyful one,, a new hope for prosperity. The poem is pregnant with new art pour l'art philosophy of new sparkles, new diamonds glittering in whiteness of the new. May this period be prosperous to you
Noel
Le ciel est noir, la terre est blanche,
Cloches, carillonnez gaiement!
Jesus est ne, la Vierge penche
Sur lui son visage charmant
_Pas de courtines festonnees
Pour preserver l-enfant du froid,
Rien que les toiles d'araignees
Qui pendent des poutres du toit
Il tremble sur la paille fraiche,
Ce cher petit enfant Jesus,
Et pour l'echauffer dans sa creche
L'ane et le boeuf soufflent dessus.
La neige au chaume coud ses franges,
Mais sur le toit s'ouvre le ciel
Et, tout en blanc, le choeur des anges
Chante aux bergers : Noel! Noel!
Bonne annee et Happz New yeat artistically and jozfully and inspirationally!
Noel
Le ciel est noir, la terre est blanche,
Cloches, carillonnez gaiement!
Jesus est ne, la Vierge penche
Sur lui son visage charmant
_Pas de courtines festonnees
Pour preserver l-enfant du froid,
Rien que les toiles d'araignees
Qui pendent des poutres du toit
Il tremble sur la paille fraiche,
Ce cher petit enfant Jesus,
Et pour l'echauffer dans sa creche
L'ane et le boeuf soufflent dessus.
La neige au chaume coud ses franges,
Mais sur le toit s'ouvre le ciel
Et, tout en blanc, le choeur des anges
Chante aux bergers : Noel! Noel!
Bonne annee et Happz New yeat artistically and jozfully and inspirationally!
March 14, 2023
Au moins plante un clou dans ta porte :
Un clou pour accrocher mon cœur.
A quoi sert que je le remporte
Fou de rage, mort de langueur ?
April 2, 2016
« La petite Marie est morte,
Et son cercueil est si peu long
Qu'il tient sous le bras qui l'emporte
Comme un étui de violon. »
– Les Joujoux de la morte
« Rhamsès, un jour mon bloc superbe,
Où l'éternité s'ébréchait,
Roula fauché comme un brin d'herbe,
Et Paris s'en fit un hochet. »
– Nostalgies d'obélisques
« Le monde est méchant, ma petite :
Avec son sourire moqueur
Il dit qu'à ton côté palpite
Une montre en place du coeur.
– Pourtant ton sein ému s'élève
Et s'abaisse comme la mer,
Aux bouillonnements de la sève
Circulant sous ta jeune chair. »
– Le Monde est méchant
Although Théophile Gautier's poetry – in this collection, at least – does not tend to touch on the rawness of human experience and emotion, as we usually expect poetry to do, his verse remains beautifully crafted and it explores fascinating topics in ways that are sometimes surprising. Like a true Parnassien, he is almost more of a painter than a poet, wielding language in his masterful way to create new images of reality and fantasy.
Et son cercueil est si peu long
Qu'il tient sous le bras qui l'emporte
Comme un étui de violon. »
– Les Joujoux de la morte
« Rhamsès, un jour mon bloc superbe,
Où l'éternité s'ébréchait,
Roula fauché comme un brin d'herbe,
Et Paris s'en fit un hochet. »
– Nostalgies d'obélisques
« Le monde est méchant, ma petite :
Avec son sourire moqueur
Il dit qu'à ton côté palpite
Une montre en place du coeur.
– Pourtant ton sein ému s'élève
Et s'abaisse comme la mer,
Aux bouillonnements de la sève
Circulant sous ta jeune chair. »
– Le Monde est méchant
Although Théophile Gautier's poetry – in this collection, at least – does not tend to touch on the rawness of human experience and emotion, as we usually expect poetry to do, his verse remains beautifully crafted and it explores fascinating topics in ways that are sometimes surprising. Like a true Parnassien, he is almost more of a painter than a poet, wielding language in his masterful way to create new images of reality and fantasy.
April 5, 2021
Review: Théophile Gautier’s Enamels and Cameos is remarkable for what it does and what it shows. What it does—foretells post-romanticism and the rise of Parnassian poets. What it shows—true poetic beauty deserves to have impeccable form. I am tired of sacrilegious free forms found in modernist and internet (gasp) verse. Where is the careful consideration? The artful restraint? The pure elegance of form embodied in Enamels & Cameos? As much as I recognise literary anarchists’ street cred, they ain’t got nothing on Gautier.
November 20, 2016
"Elle tressaille à mon approche, / Et son regard, triste et charmant, / Sur le mien d'un air de reproche, / Se fixe douloureusement."
January 1, 2015
Une poésie d'une grande fraîcheur, finement ciselée, qui chante la nature, la beauté et les souvenirs dans des octosyllabes très vivants, où la personnification est reine. J'ai particulièrement apprécié «Le château des souvenirs», où la mémoire est représentée par un vieux château: l'approche, l'entrée, la galerie de tableaux...; «Étude de mains», où sont décrites successivement la main de marbre d'une sculpture classique et celle du truand Lacenaire, conservée dans le formol...; de petits bijoux comme «Premier sourire du printemps» et «La source»... je pourrais tous les nommer. Avec son éternel sourire en coin, Théophile Gautier est ma découverte classique de l'année 2014 (voir aussi Les Grotesques). J'y reviendrai certainement.
February 27, 2017
This was a disappointing collection, as I have enjoyed Gautier's fiction in translation, as well as some poems I've come across in other anthologies. The translator for this edition was Agnes Lee, and I'm not sure who's at fault here, but these poems were dull, in a style that I believe was archaic at the time of publication (1906), that sapped any life these poems may have had in their original language.
I would recommend avoiding this freely available version at all costs, and look for a better, perhaps more recent, translation.
May 28, 2017
Enamels and Cameos is a nice collection of poems by Gautier. There are fragrances of the exotic here, meditations on beauty and visions of phantasms; marble statues, paintings, flowers, luxuries and carnivals. It's easy to surrender yourself to these heady poetic perfumes!
April 20, 2016
Théophile Gautier est un véritable génie des mots. A lire absolument, et laissez vous bercer.
August 16, 2022
One could make an argument for Théophile Gautier being the Romantic godfather of Charles Baudelaire and the Symbolist one of Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud. For the last 40 or more years, until about 4 years ago, my knowledge of Gautier was simply by name only – “a poet” who preceded the two or three French poets I admired most at one time.
I had never taken the time to look into Gautierʼs poetry, just as I have never taken the time to look into so many other French poetsʼ poetry whose names I know but whose works are ciphers to me, like – in no particular order but what comes first to mind, – Sainte-Beuve, Victor Hugo, François Coppée, Leconte de Lisle, Albert Glatigny, Auguste Barbier, Maurice Bouchor, etc. – so many poets, and too many names to bore you or delight you with here, now, some of their poetry more to my tooth presumably, some more to yours, and some just waiting in the wings of life, which is a couple boards nailed together with things moving around on top of it, to astound me and make wonder.
Why does it take so long to come around and check them out, – others still will put one to sleep or make one pull his teeth out assuredly, like the Suction Cup does in The Desperate Man – the list of names is nearly endless, and the more I look at it the longer it extends until, at the end of at least one horizon, I see not a blue or yellow thing, except maybe a tombstone.
About four years ago, I found myself in the local university library killing time during the lunch hours, for a period of time that lasted over a year. My real purpose visiting the library during lunchtime was to take a ten- or fifteen-minute “power nap” before returning to work. And invariably I did, but that left another 30 or so minutes to do something, and seeing as I was in the library, why not read a book, eh? Did I mention that I found myself in the French literature section. So day after day, week after week, you could find me, just as I found myself, in the library, on the 3rd floor – leafing through the dusty and sometimes neʼer touched books of French poets, long dead.
Eventually, like a Franco-English blend of the fictional “self-taught man” in La Nausée and the real-life Robert Burton, author of The Anatomy of Melancholy, both of whom spent years and possibly decades in their local libraries, I got around to Gautier. And I was impressed. So impressed in fact that I pitched the idea of a translation of his poetry to a book publisher. The idea fell flatter than a failed soufflé thirty ways to Sunday, and I moved on to other things. But recently, I came back to him and behold!
It is my contribution to the hundreds upon thousands of books of excellent French literature, poetry particularly, just waiting to be translated into English, to satisfy the eyes, ears, and hearts of so many young men and women not yet yearning for them.
Do I need to mention that ITTB (I translated this book)?
I had never taken the time to look into Gautierʼs poetry, just as I have never taken the time to look into so many other French poetsʼ poetry whose names I know but whose works are ciphers to me, like – in no particular order but what comes first to mind, – Sainte-Beuve, Victor Hugo, François Coppée, Leconte de Lisle, Albert Glatigny, Auguste Barbier, Maurice Bouchor, etc. – so many poets, and too many names to bore you or delight you with here, now, some of their poetry more to my tooth presumably, some more to yours, and some just waiting in the wings of life, which is a couple boards nailed together with things moving around on top of it, to astound me and make wonder.
Why does it take so long to come around and check them out, – others still will put one to sleep or make one pull his teeth out assuredly, like the Suction Cup does in The Desperate Man – the list of names is nearly endless, and the more I look at it the longer it extends until, at the end of at least one horizon, I see not a blue or yellow thing, except maybe a tombstone.
About four years ago, I found myself in the local university library killing time during the lunch hours, for a period of time that lasted over a year. My real purpose visiting the library during lunchtime was to take a ten- or fifteen-minute “power nap” before returning to work. And invariably I did, but that left another 30 or so minutes to do something, and seeing as I was in the library, why not read a book, eh? Did I mention that I found myself in the French literature section. So day after day, week after week, you could find me, just as I found myself, in the library, on the 3rd floor – leafing through the dusty and sometimes neʼer touched books of French poets, long dead.
Eventually, like a Franco-English blend of the fictional “self-taught man” in La Nausée and the real-life Robert Burton, author of The Anatomy of Melancholy, both of whom spent years and possibly decades in their local libraries, I got around to Gautier. And I was impressed. So impressed in fact that I pitched the idea of a translation of his poetry to a book publisher. The idea fell flatter than a failed soufflé thirty ways to Sunday, and I moved on to other things. But recently, I came back to him and behold!
It is my contribution to the hundreds upon thousands of books of excellent French literature, poetry particularly, just waiting to be translated into English, to satisfy the eyes, ears, and hearts of so many young men and women not yet yearning for them.
Do I need to mention that ITTB (I translated this book)?
August 25, 2022
Au préalable je salue le fantastique travail de Claudine Gothot-Mersch, professeur aux Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis de Bruxelles, qui a présenté, établi et richement annoté la présente édition. C'est aussi elle qui a ajouté en appendice l'Albertus, écrit en 1831-1832 alors que Gautier avait vingt ans seulement.
Je vous invite chaleureusement à lire ces « Émaux et Camées ». le recueil est en principe l'application la plus directe des principes de l'école du Parnasse, qui prône « l'art pour l'art ». On attribue traditionnellement une certaine froideur à ces poèmes, or, je suis moyennement d'accord avec cette affirmation.
Le vocabulaire surprend par sa richesse, par son utilisation très précise, une des principales caractéristiques de Gautier qui s'évade par la poésie : que ce soit à Venise ou dans l'Antiquité.
À noter encore de nombreuses références littéraires (cf. le poème Préface), des descriptions d'œuvres aussi, sorte d'ecphrasis parfois, plus la culture que la nature.
Je vous invite chaleureusement à lire ces « Émaux et Camées ». le recueil est en principe l'application la plus directe des principes de l'école du Parnasse, qui prône « l'art pour l'art ». On attribue traditionnellement une certaine froideur à ces poèmes, or, je suis moyennement d'accord avec cette affirmation.
Le vocabulaire surprend par sa richesse, par son utilisation très précise, une des principales caractéristiques de Gautier qui s'évade par la poésie : que ce soit à Venise ou dans l'Antiquité.
À noter encore de nombreuses références littéraires (cf. le poème Préface), des descriptions d'œuvres aussi, sorte d'ecphrasis parfois, plus la culture que la nature.
August 18, 2021
J'ai un inexplicablement immense amour pour les noms de matières précieuses (marbre laiteux, perle, nacre, satin, émail...) alors quand ils se retrouvent dans les octosyllabes parfaits de Théophile Gautier, mon cœur ne résiste pas ❣
D'ailleurs je m'autoproclamerais bien Muse Anachronique de Gautier si ma connexion toute particulière à sa poésie n'était pas due au fait que c'est celle que je rêve d'écrire...
"Ses paupières battent des ailes
Sur leurs globes d'argent bruni,
Et l'on voit monter ses prunelles
Dans la nacre de l'infini."
*
"Ses yeux, où le ciel se reflète,
Mêlent à leur azur amer,
Qu'étoile une humide paillette,
Les teintes glauques de la mer."
*
"Les dieux eux-mêmes meurent,
Mais les vers souverains
Demeurent
Plus forts que les airains.
Sculpte, lime, cisèle ;
Que ton rêve flottant
Se scelle
Dans le bloc résistant !"
D'ailleurs je m'autoproclamerais bien Muse Anachronique de Gautier si ma connexion toute particulière à sa poésie n'était pas due au fait que c'est celle que je rêve d'écrire...
"Ses paupières battent des ailes
Sur leurs globes d'argent bruni,
Et l'on voit monter ses prunelles
Dans la nacre de l'infini."
*
"Ses yeux, où le ciel se reflète,
Mêlent à leur azur amer,
Qu'étoile une humide paillette,
Les teintes glauques de la mer."
*
"Les dieux eux-mêmes meurent,
Mais les vers souverains
Demeurent
Plus forts que les airains.
Sculpte, lime, cisèle ;
Que ton rêve flottant
Se scelle
Dans le bloc résistant !"
August 5, 2024
J’ai vrm adoré les poèmes d’amour de la 1ere partie (trop une classic girl bien dans les codes 🥰🥰) mais la 2eme part jai pas compris la DA…
August 12, 2025
Les dieux eux-mêmes meurent,
Mais les vers souverains
Demeurent
Plus fort que les airains.
Mais les vers souverains
Demeurent
Plus fort que les airains.
August 16, 2022
2.75 stars
February 11, 2022
I read this volume inside the larger collected works of Gautier, a 1903 edition, Vol 24, by FC de Sumichrast. Why? Because too few of Gautier's works have been translated into English and made widely available. This was the only copy in Michigan!
And so, I was anxious to enjoy the works, especially "Albertus," one of his first published poems. I was disheartened to see that Agnes Lee, who did so much translating of his Gautier, chose here to translate the verse into prosody. I am unsure what motivated her decision. Equally, I was intrigued and a bit enlightened to find early utterances of Gautier's "Art for Art's Sake" theme (as an overwhelming moral message here), it overlapping with no small amount of authorial intrusion (including the name of the titular character who--though meeting with a tragic end--shares Gautier's code/nick-name in his circle of writers).
Finally, I should not have been surprised to find sections of Gautier's gothic imagination falling too easily to cliché and hyperbole, amateurish asides, etc. --even while other sections hinted at his more lean and mature styling to come. And while I was not put off by the lasciviousness of his language (he was a sensualist, after all), his prejudices of the mid 19th-century now appear here as strongly anti-Semitic and racist, at times.
My rating then is for the experience of discovering Gautier rather than for the quality of all of his early writing.
And so, I was anxious to enjoy the works, especially "Albertus," one of his first published poems. I was disheartened to see that Agnes Lee, who did so much translating of his Gautier, chose here to translate the verse into prosody. I am unsure what motivated her decision. Equally, I was intrigued and a bit enlightened to find early utterances of Gautier's "Art for Art's Sake" theme (as an overwhelming moral message here), it overlapping with no small amount of authorial intrusion (including the name of the titular character who--though meeting with a tragic end--shares Gautier's code/nick-name in his circle of writers).
Finally, I should not have been surprised to find sections of Gautier's gothic imagination falling too easily to cliché and hyperbole, amateurish asides, etc. --even while other sections hinted at his more lean and mature styling to come. And while I was not put off by the lasciviousness of his language (he was a sensualist, after all), his prejudices of the mid 19th-century now appear here as strongly anti-Semitic and racist, at times.
My rating then is for the experience of discovering Gautier rather than for the quality of all of his early writing.
April 14, 2023
A few inspiring pieces, good themes..
April '23, upping this 1 star
April '23, upping this 1 star
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews