JEAN MOREAS.

Dominion, Volume 3, Issue 821, 21 May 1910, Page 9

JEAN MOREAS.

There died ■ in Pam tho other day Jean Moreas, who was perhaps the greatest French poet remaining. .Though one thinks of him as French, however, ho was French only by adoption, and it was quite recently that he was naturalised. Ho was by birth a Greek, named Papndiamantopoulos; and his grandfathor had been with Byron at the siege of Missolonghi. Ho came to Paris as a law student, returned to Athens to practise, but soon abandoned his profession, and settled in. Paris as a man of letters. _ _ ,

Ho was fond of displaying himself to tbo public in tho terraces of hotels and in cafes, whoro ho would sit surrounded by his disciples. Vance Thompson, in his "French Portraits," reports his conversation as follows: —"It wa-s I who invented symbolism . . . and now I abolish it; tho decree has gone forth —there, is no symbolism more ... I have found another namo for my school, and now my poetry is tho poesio roniane. It covers the art of tho midi of Europe—that ait which has reached its highest development in French literature. ... I have always been a rebel. Tho fierce blood of tho Klepht is in my veins. I am a Greek —indeed, I believe I am tho last representative o£ the Greek race. Itly family is illustrious. It is called Papadiamantopoulus ... it signifies that I am Son-of-a-Diamond-in-whose-fainily-

was-a-priest. My race engenders heroes. My father wished to send me to Germany to school. I revolted. I wished to see France. Twice I ran away from homo. At last I reached Paris. Destiny pointed tho way. My star led me—to occoine tho greatest of

French poets. I suffered horribly. I know hunger, thirst, and homelossness —till my hour camo.". The following is a literal translation of one of his best-known poems from his symbolist period:— .

Voices returning, cradle us, cradling voices: thin refrains of everything that passes, bolls of mules turning the mountain passes, —Voices returning, cradle us, cradling voices. v

Flagons, intoxicate us, you also, flagons . of old: odours of harvests .of fleeces hidden in dusk, mouths of wallflowers, flesh of amber, flesh of nnisk, —Flagons, intoxicate us, 0 you, tho flagons of old. In this morning of winter, and of shadow chill, in this morning of winter the voice of tho lark is still. --Voices returning, cradle us, cradling voices.

The lilies are cut in the garden, and every roso, and the iridos by tho waters, waters morose. Flagons, intoxicate us, 0 you, tho flagons of jOld.