ADRIEN E. ROUQUETTE

Previous

Adrien Emmanuel Rouquette, Louisiana's most distinguished poet, was born at New Orleans, February 13, 1813, the scion of an old and honorable Creole family, and the brother of Francois Dominique Rouquette (1810-1890), who was also a poet of much merit. From his boyhood he had a great fancy for the American Indian, and among them he spent many of his early years. His academic training was begun at Transylvania University of Lexington, Kentucky, but as the old matriculation books have disappeared, it now seems quite impossible to definitely fix his period of residence. From Lexington Rouquette journeyed to Paris, France, where he studied at the Royal College and at Nantes and Remnes. He was graduated from Remnes, March 26, 1833, and at once returned to New Orleans. He had, however, developed into such an unconventional fellow his family decided that a law course in Paris was what he needed, so back to the capital of the French he went. He soon abandoned the law and again returned to New Orleans, where he took up his abode among the Indians. In 1841 Rouquette published his first and best book of poems, written wholly in French, entitled Les Savanes (Paris and New Orleans). Nearly all of the poems were upon Louisiana subjects, save the finest one, Souvenir de Kentucky, an exquisite memorial of his Kentucky days, written in 1838. As he was partly educated in Kentucky and in praise of Kentucky wrote his masterpiece, this State has a double claim upon him which, though secondary to that of Louisiana, is none the less legitimate. In 1842 the poet began his studies for the priesthood, and three years later he was ordained and attached to the Catholic cathedral at New Orleans. His subsequent works include Discours prononce a la Cathedral de Saint Louis (New Orleans, 1846); Wild Flowers (New Orleans, 1848); La Thebaide en Amerique (New Orleans, 1852); L'Antoniade (New Orleans, 1860), a long poem in which a solitary life is extolled; Poemes patriotiques (New Orleans, 1860); St. Catherine Tegehkwitha (New Orleans, 1873); and, La Nouvelle Atala (New Orleans, 1879). In 1859 the AbbÉ Rouquette established a mission for the Choctaw Indians on the Bayou Lacombe, to which work he gave the larger part of his life. Rouquette also turned into French the poems of Estelle Anna Lewis (1824-1880), the Baltimore woman whom Poe admired; and he edited Selections from the Poets of all Countries. The three great Louisiana writers, Rouquette, the poet, Fortier, the critic, and GayarrÉ, the historian, published pamphlets condemnatory of Mr. George W. Cable's conceptions of Creole life and history as set forth in his many books. The AbbÉ sent his out anonymously, entitled Critical Dialogue between Aboo and Caboo on a New Book, or a Grandissime Ascension, edited by E. Junius (Great Publishing House of Sam Slick Allspice, 12 Veracity street, Mingo City, 1880). From the Creole standpoint The Grandissimes most probably deserved to be satirized, but not in the cheap and easy manner of this little pamphlet. It was a very unhappy swan-song of senility for the AbbÉ Rouquette. He died at New Orleans, July 15, 1887, lamented by his city and state. Sainte-Beuve, though recognizing the influence of Chateaubriand in Rouquette's work, praised him highly, as did many of the other famous French critics of his day and generation.

Bibliography. Cyclopaedia of American Literature, by E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck (New York, 1856); Louisiana Studies, by AlcÉe Fortier (New Orleans, 1894); Literature of the Louisiana Territory, by A. N. DeMenil (St. Louis, 1904).

SOUVENIR DE KENTUCKY

[From Les Savanes, PoÉsies Americaines (Paris, 1841)]

Kentucky, the bloody land!


Le Seigneur dit À OsÉe: "AprÈs cela, nÉanmoins, je l'attirerai doucement À moi, je l'amÈnerai dans la solitude, et je lui parlerai au coeur."—(La Bible Osee).

Enfant, je dis un soir: Adieu, ma bonne mÈre!
Et je quittai gaÎment sa maison et sa terre,
Enfant, dans mon exil, une lettre, un matin,
(O Louise!) m'apprit que j'Étais orphelin!
Enfant, je vis les bois du Kentucky sauvage,
Et l'homme se souvient des bois de son jeune Âge!
Ah! dans le Kentucky les arbres sont bien beaux:
C'est la terre de sang, aux indiens tombeaux,
Terre aux belles forÊts, aux sÉculaires chÊnes,
Aux bois suivis de bois, aux magnifiques scÈnes;
Imposant cimetiÈre, oÙ dorment en repos
Tant de rouges-tribus et tant de blanches-peaux;
OÙ l'ombre du vieux Boon, immobile gÉnie,
Semble Écouter, la nuit, l'Éternelle harmonie,
Le murmure Êternel des immenses dÉserts,
Ces mille bruits confus, ces mille bruits divers,
Cet orgue des forÊts, cet orchestre sublime,
O Dieu! que seul tu fis, que seul ton souffle anime!
Quand au vaste clavier pÈse un seul de tes doigts,
Soudain, roulent dans l'air mille flots À la fois:
Soudain, au fond des bois, sonores basiliques,
Bourdonne un ocÉan de sauvages musiques;
Et l'homme, À tous ces sons de l'orgue universel,
L'homme tombe À genoux, en regardant le ciel!
Il tombe, il croit, il prie; et, chrÉtien sans Étude,
Il retrouve, ÉtonnÉ, Dieu dans la solitude!

A portion of this famous poem was translated by a writer in The Southern Quarterly Review (July, 1854).

Here, with its Indian tombs, the Bloody Land
Spreads out:—majestic forests, secular oaks,
Woods stretching into woods; a witching realm,
Yet haunted with dread shadows;—a vast grave,
Where, laid together in the sleep of death,
Rest myriads of the red men and the pale.
Here, the stern forest genius, veteran Boon,
Still harbors: still he hearkens, as of yore,
To never ceasing harmonies, that blend,
At night, the murmurs of a thousand sounds,
That rise and swell capricious, change yet rise,
Borne from far wastes immense, whose mingling strains—
The forest organ's tones, the sylvan choir—
Thy breath alone, O God! can'st animate,
Making it fruitful in the matchless space!
Thy mighty fingers pressing on its keys,
How suddenly the billowy tones roll up
From the great temples of the solemn depths,
Resounding through the immensity of wood
To the grand gushing harmonies, that speak
For thee, alone, O Father. As we hear
The unanimous concert of this mighty chaunt,
We bow before thee; eyes uplift to Heaven,
We pray thee, and believe. A Christian sense
Informs us, though untaught in Christian books
Awed into worship, as we learn to know
That thou, O God, art in the solitude!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page