Black Magic [antikvár]

PRELIMINARY1895.Charles, our gardener at Ris-Orangis, shows me the illustrated supplement of the Petit Journal, wherein a soldier with a sugar-loaf helmet is killing Malagasy. Entry of the French into Antananarivo. First childhood memories.1902.I am taken to the circus in Paris. Cake-walk. A couple of American Negroes in Sunday best, with the bouquet of Manet's Olympia in their hands, prance their way into the twentieth century.1914.September: 9 p. m. Senegalese infantry march down the Boulevard Saint-Michel. Directionthe Marne.1916.September. Throughout one whole evening a man with a Creole accent, and the monotone of one of Conrad's narrators, opens my eyes to the poetry of the West Indies, the hierarchy of rum. It is the poet Saint Léger Léger.1919.DariusMilhaud arrives from Brazil. He describes Bahia, the black Rome, and plays me those Negro sambas which are shortly to serve for the music of his Bouf sur le Toit.1920.Ireturn to France. In the post-War bars. So sublime, so heartrending, are the accents of jazz, that we all realize that a new form is needed for our mode of feeling. But the basis of it all? Sooner or later, I tellv