Alfred Didier Marie Mesnard, comte de Chousy, 1884
David Herter, author of CERES STORM, EVENING'S EMPIRE, ON THE OVERGROWN PATH, THE LUMINOUS DEPTHS and ONE WHO DISAPPEARED
Sunday
Monday
“Harmony is nothing but a garment, more or less diaphanous, more or less suitable, which one throws over a beautiful body like gauze, silk, linen or wool, allowing one to discern its forms and outlines, disguising them, or altogether suppressing them. Melody without harmony is always something; harmony without melody is nothing.”
Fabre d'Olivet, 1810
Saturday
“Already the Master’s soul has departed, at the mere word The Bells, toward dazzling rhapsodies.
“Here ring out upon the piano: bells of spring mornings, bells across the countryside, bells of village baptisms.
“And the harmonies are as limpid as the sky where the last rose-colored traces of dawn have just faded.
“Then comes the Angelus bell, hovering like a sacred dove above fields where sheaves lie flattened, cut by the sickle, now idle in the brown hands of praying peasant women.
“The keyboard murmurs like distant organs in Gregorian plainsong.
“But here is the tocsin—the bell of disaster, of insurrection, of massacre.
“And the chords, under the magician’s fingers, become dissonant, torn by cries, heated with cascading blood, darkly blazing with fire.
“One can discern the clash of arms; the chromatic scale of turmoil rides the sound waves; the minor lament of the sacrificed breathes out.
“Bah! Since men kill one another, they must be remade.”
Maria Anastasia Krysińska, 1905
Wednesday
Henri de Regnier, 1897
Friday
“And Monelle handed me a hollow stalk of fennel, inside of which burned a pink filament.
“'Take this torch,' she said, 'and burn. Burn everything on the earth and in the sky. And break the fennel and put out its flame when you have finished burning, for nothing should be passed on;
“'So that you be the second Narthekophoros, and that you destroy with fire, and that the fire fallen from the sky rise again to its heights.'”
Marcel Schwob, 1894
Tuesday
“'What! You are singing in a theatre!' exclaimed my aunt, when I told her of my engagement at Brussels. 'My poor child! You will be everlastingly damned! Who would ever have thought such a thing possible? A little girl of our family going to be an actress—one of those women who could not be buried in consecrated ground in the old days! The curé himself has told me all about it. It's terrible, terrible!' she cried, rocking herself back and forth in her chair and bursting into tears. 'I will pray for you!'”
Emma Calve, 1922
Friday
“Attach a white sheet to your wall, while calling to me through the window, and arrange yourselves very sagely, like the Tuesday spectators at the Comédie Française. I shall come with my apparatus, and then you will have pleasure for your money. You will see the Good God, and Monsieur le Soleil, Madame la Lune, Mesdemoiselles les Étoiles, the King, the Queen, the Gendarme, the Executioner, Morning, Midday, Evening, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Elements and many figures of an enticing modernity.”
Théodore de Banville, 1883
Saturday
Thursday
Sunday
“I gazed on a medley of strange-angled forms that might have materialized from a geometrician's nightmare.”
Clark Ashton Smith, 1933
Friday
“Hashish is composed of a extraction of Indian hemp, butter, and a small quantity of opium. Take a clump the size of a nut, fill a small spoon, and happiness will be yours: absolute happiness with all its intoxication, its youthful folly, and its infinite blessedness.
“As far as possible, you need a fine apartment or a beautiful scene, a free and unconcerned mind, and a few accomplices whose intellectual talents are similar to your own; and a little music if you can get it.
“Then the hallucinations begin. External objects take on a monstrous appearance. They show your senses forms heretofore unknown. Then they are deformed and finally enter into your being, or rather you enter into theirs. Sounds have colors, and colors have a music. Musical notes are numbers, and you perform mathematical calculations with terrifying speed as the music flows into your ears. You are seated and you have a smoke; you start to think that now you're inside the pipe, and it's you whom your pipe is smoking; you yourself are being exhaled in the form of bluish clouds.”
Charles Baudelaire, 1860
Tuesday
“In fact, by dint of agitating, the crocodile is oozing a thick foam from all its pores, which emits a noxious odor. In addition, torrents of fire emerge from its mouth, which would have intimidated the most intrepid of men. That foam and that fire amalgamate together and are transformed into an innumerable multitude of maleficent animals of every species, which circulate en masse in the atmosphere, obscuring it to such an extent that nothing at all can any longer be discerned, and not the slightest particle remains that is breathable.”
Louis-Claude de Saint-Martin, 1798
Sunday
Wednesday
Maurice Maeterlinck, 1922
Monday
“On the eleventh day, in the morning, Ab-Hakek was not yet dead. A noise of heavy footsteps was heard in the stairwell of the turret. The door opened: a phantasmagoric and portentous being entered. It was Agraman.
“At the sight of him, the magician, burdened and statue-like as he was, stood up. ‘I am hungry!’ he murmured, ‘I am going to die: it is time to tell me the last word of science.’
“Agraman took him by the wrist and shouted in his ear, with a violent and metallic burst of laughter: ‘Master! Science is the shadow of a shadow: umbra umbræ!’”
Alphonse Esquiros, 1838
Friday
“This opera by Zola and Bruneau is full of symbols. I must say I don’t understand this excessive need for symbols. They seem to have forgotten that it is still music that is supreme in its beauty. As you would expect, each symbol takes the form of a leitmotiv; once again music is weighed down by these obstinate little phrases, which insist on having their say no matter what else is going on. Really, to pretend that such-and-such a succession of chords represents this or that sentiment, and that so-and-so phrase is one or another character—it is nothing but an anthropometrical game.”
Claude Debussy, 1901
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