JI11IJ J

LITERATURE
NINETEENTH PRINTING
\11o 1!L1!JJ
1PIc c1111^
1rau:latcd h 0ut:c arc:c
Baudelaire composed the series of prose poems known
as larisSp/een between 1855 and his death in 1867. He at
tached great importance to his work in this then unusual
form, asking, "Which one of us, in his moments of ambition,
has not dreamed of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical,
without rhythm and without rhyme, supple enough and
rugged enough to adapt itself to the lyrical impulses of the
soul, the undulations of reverie, the jibes of conscience?"
In his biography of Baudelaire, Lewis Pia get Shanks
calls larisS/een "the fnal expression of the poet's vision of
the world, of his melancholia, his idealism, his desperate
desire to fee from the prison of his subjectivity, his furious
longing to find some escape from the ugliness of moder
life. They are the center of his work: absolutely devoid of
pose, they explain all the rest of it."
Where Baudelaire treated the same theme both in lris
Sp/een and in F/ouers oj Lti/, Enid Starkie fnds the prose
poems "more mature in conception, containing more har
mony in the contrast between the fesh and the spirit.?'
Several of these "corresponding" poems are given in an
appendix to this edition.
--j
Cover: 1
ANEW
DlRECTIO B
PAPERBOO
NDP294

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L1J11^ U111J1
PARI
S
SPLEEN
i1D
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY
LOUISE VARESE
A NE W D I R E C TIONS B OOK
Copyright 1947, 1955, 1962, 1970 by New Directions
Publishing Corporation.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 485012
1h 0811200078
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a
newspaper, magazine, radio, or television review, no part of this
book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the Publisher.
English translation made from the French text of Oeuvres de
Baudelaire, La Pleiade, 1931.
!YL1ULW1h
For permission to reprint the copyrighted translations in the
"correspondence" section of this volume the Publisher is indebted
to the following translators and publishers: Thomas Cole, editor
and publisher of [magi for the translation "Invitation To The
Voyage" by Richard Wilbur and the Harvill Press, Ltd., and
Pantheon Books, Inc., for translations by Roy Campbell from
Poems of Baudelaire, Copyright 1952 by Pantheon Books, Inc.,
and to Frederick Morgan and David Paul whose translations frst
appeared in The Flowers of Evil, New Directions, 1962.
Manufactured in the United States of America
New Directions books are printed on acid-free paper
First published as New Directions Paperbook 294 in 1970
Published simultaneously in Canada by Penguin Books Canada Limited.
New Directions Books are published for James Laughlin
by New Directions Publishing Corporation,
80 Eighth Avenue, New York lOOll.
NINETEENTH PRINTING
CONTENTS
To Arstme Houesaye . . . . . " . . . . .. . . . . . . . . ix
I. The Stranger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
II. The Old Woman's Despair . . . . . . . . . ....... 2
III. Artist's Confteor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . e . . . . . 3
-IV. A Wag .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . 4
V. The Double Room. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
--VI. To Every Man His Chimera . . . . '" . .. . . .. . 8
VII. Venus And The Motley Fool . . . .. " .... " .. 10
VIII. The Dog And The Scent-Bottle. . .. . . . . . . ... 11
IX. The Bad Glazier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 12
X. One O'Clock In The Morning . s . . . . . . . . . . .. 15
XI. The Wild Woman And The Fashionable
XII.
XIII.
- XIV.
XV.
Coquette . . . . . . . . . . . .... . .. . . .. . . . 17
Crowds
Widows
The Old Clown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . .
20
22
25
28
XVI. The Clock . . . . r . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . e . . 30
XVII. A Hemisphere In Your Hair . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 31
XVIII. L'/nvitation Au Voyage . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . 32
XIX. The Poor Child's Toy. . . . . .. . . . . .. . ... . .. 3
5
XX. The Fairies' Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . 37
-
XXI. The Temptations or Eros, Plutus And Fame . .
40
XXII. Evening Twilight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
V
XXIII. Solitude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . 4
- XXIV. Projects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . 4
XXV. The Beautiful Dorothea . . " . . . . . . . ... . . .. 50

XXVI.
XXVII.
- _XVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
~
XXXIII.

XXXIV.
a
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
XLIV.
XLV.
XLVI.
XLVII.
XLVIII.
XIX.
L.
The Eyes of The Poor . .6 . . . . . 4 . . . . . . . . . , 52
A Heroic Death . . . . . .. . . . . . . . 4 . . . . . . . . . 5
4
Counterfeit . . . j.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 58
The Generous Gambler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
The Rope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 64
Vocations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
The Thyrsus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Get Drunk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , 74
Already! . . . . . . . . .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . 75
Windows . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . . .. 77
The Desire To Paint . . o e a + + o e o e e e e 78
The Moon's Favors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . 79
Which Is The Real One? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
A Thoroughbred .. . . . .. . . . . . e . . . . . . . . . 82
The Mirror . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
SeaPorts . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
B
Portraits of Mistresses .................. 85
The Gallant Marksman
9
The Soup And The Clouds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 91
The Shooting Gallery AdThe Cemetery. . .. 92
Loss Of A Halo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 94
Miss Bistoury . . . 4 .4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4 95
Any Where Out Of The World. . . . . . . . . . . ..
9
Beat Up The Poor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 101
The Faithful Dog . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
4
EPILOGUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . 108
vi
TO ARSENE HOUSSAYE
My DEAR FRIEND, I send you a little work of which no one can
say, without doing it an injustice, that it has neither head nor
tail, since, on the contrary, everything in it is both head and
tail, alternately and reciprocally. I beg you to consider how
admirably convenient this combination is for all of us, for you,
for me, and for the reader. We can cut wherever we please, I my
dreaming, you your manuscript, the reader his reading; for I
do not keep the reader's restive mind hanging in suspense on
the threads of an interminable and superfuous plot. Take away
one vertebra and the two ends of this tortuous fantasy come
together again without pain. Chop it into numerous pieces and
you will see that each one can get along alone. In the hope that
there is enough life in some of these segments to please and to
amuse you, I take the liberty of dedicating the whole serpent
to you.
I have a little confession to make. It was while running
through, for the twentieth time at least, the pages of the famous
Gaspard de la Nuit of Aloysius Bertrand (has not a book known
to you, to me, and to a few of our friends the right to be called
famous ? ) that the idea came to me of attempting something in
the same vein, and of applying to the description of our more
abstract modern life the same method he used in depicting the
old days, so strangely picturesque.
Which one of us, in his moments of ambition, has not
dreamed of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical, without
rhythm and without rhyme, supple enough and rugged enough
ix
toadaptitseIItotheIyricaIimpuIsesoIthesouI,theunduIations
oIreverie,the] ibesoIconscience:
lt was, above aII, out oImyexpIoration oIhuge cities, out
oI the medIey oI their innumerabIe interreIations, that this
haunting ideaI was born. You yourseII, dear Iriend, have you
nottriedtotransIate in asongtheGlzier's stridentcry, andto
express inIyricproseaIIthedismaI suggestionsthis cry sends
upthroughtheIog oIthestreettothehighestgarrets:
JoteIIthetruth,however, lamaIraidthatmyenvy hasnot
been propitious. Fromtheverybeginninglperceivedthatl was
not onIy Iar Irom mymysteriousandbriIIiantmodeI, but was,
indeed, doingsomething (iI it can becaIIedsomething) singu-
IarIydi6erent, an accIdent which any one eIsewouId gIory in,
nodoubt,butwhichcanonIydeepIyhumiIiateamindconvinced
thatthegreatesthonorIor apoetistosucceedin doingexactIy
whatheset outtodo.
Yours most a6ectionateIy,
C. B.
x
I
THE S TRAN GER
TELL ME, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your fathe
your mother, your sister, or your brother?

I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.

Your friends ?
Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known.
Your country?
I do not know in what latitude it lies.
Beauty?
I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal.
Gold?
I hate it as you hate God.
f
Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
I love the clouds . . . the clouds that pass . . . up
up there . . . the wonderful clouds !
| \|
there . +
II
THE OLD WOMAN' S DES PAIR
AWIZENED IittIe oId womanIeIt gIaddenedand gay at the sight
oItheprettybabythatevery one wasmaking such a Iuss over,
andthatevery onewantedtopIease, suchaprettyIittIecreature,
as IraiI as the oId woman herseII, and toothIess and hairIess
Iikeher.
Shewentup to him aII nods and smiIes.
8ut the inIant, terrihed, struggIed to get away Irom her
caresses, hIIing the house with his howIs.
Jhenthe oIdwoman wentbackintohereternaIsoIitude and
wept aIone, saying. "Ah, Ior us miserabIe oId IemaIes the age
oIpIeasin
.
ure us and
we are scarecrowstoIittIechiIdren whomwe IongtoIove."
[
2
]
III
ARTIS T' S CON FITEOR
How POIGNANT the late afternoons of autumn! Ah! poignant to
the verge of pain, for there are certain delicious sensations which
are no less intense for being vague; and there is no sharper
point than that of Infnity.
-
What bliss to
p
lunge the e
y
es into the immensit
y
of sky and
sea! Solitude, silence, incomparable chastity of the blue! a tiny
.
sail shivering on the horizon, imitating by its littleness and
loneliness my irremediable existence, monotonous melody of
the waves, all these things think through me or I through them
(for in the grandeur of reverie the ego is quickly lost ! ) ; I say
they think, but musically and picturesquely, witout quibblings,
without syllogisms, without deductions.
These thoughts, whether they come from me or spring from
things, soon, at all events, grow too intense. Energy in voluptu.
ousness creates uneasiness and actual pain.
M
y
nerves are strung
suc
h
a pitc
h
that t
h
e
y
can no longer give out anything but
shrill and
p
ainful vibrations.
And now the profound depth of the sky dismays me; its
purity irritates me. The insensibility of the sea, te immutability
of the whole spectacle revolt me . . . Ah! must one eternally
sufer, or else eternally fee beauty? Nature, pitiless sorceress,
ever victorious rival, do let me be ! Stop tempting my desires
and my pride! The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist
shrieks with terror before being overcome.

|!
IV
A WAG
PANDEMONIUM oI New Year`s Eve . chaos oI snow and mud
churned up by a thousand carriages gIittering with toys and
bonbons
,
swarmingwithcupidityanddespair, oHciaIIrenzy oI
a big city designed to troubIe the mind oI the most impervi-
oussoIitary.
lnthemidstoIthisdeaIenInghubbub,adonkeywastrotting
briskIy aIong, beIaboredby aIowIeIIowarmedwith a whip.
1ustasthedonkeywasabouttoturnacorner, arespIendent
gentIeman,aIIgroomed, gIoved,crueIIycravatedandimprisoned
inbrand newcIothes, made a ceremonous bow to thehumbIe
beast, saying ashetook o0 his hat. "A very happy and pros-
perousNew Year to youl "Then he turned witha Iatuous air
towardsomevaguecompanions,asthoughtobegthemtomake
hissatisIaction compIete by their appIause.
The donkey paid no attention to this eIegantwag, and con-
tinuedtotrotzeaIousIyaIongwhere dutycaIIed.
As Ior me, l was suddenIy seized by an incomprehensibIe
rage against this bedizened imbeciIe, Ior it seemed to me that
inhimwasconcentratedaIIthewitoIFrance.
[4 ]
v
THE DOU BLE ROOM
A ROOM that is Iike a dream, a truIy sit|/ ;oom, where the
stagnantatmosphere isnebuIousIydpink and Hue.
Herethe souItakes abath oIindoLrrce+:entedwith aIIthe
aromaticperIumes oI desireand regret.There is aboutitsome-
thing crepuscuIar, bIuish shot with rose, a voIuptuous dream
in an ecIipse. '-> 7 n
Every piece oI Iurniture is oI an eIongated Iorm, Ianguid

andprostrate, andseems to be dreaming, endowed, one wouId
say,with asomnambuIarexistenceIikemineraIsandvegetabIes.
The hangings speak a siIent Ianguage Iike owers, skies and
settingsuns.
No artisticabominations onthewaIIs. De6nite, positive art
isbIasphemycomparedtodreamandtheunanaIyzedimpression.
Here aII is bathed in harmony's own adequate and deIicious
obscurity.
An inhnitesimaI scent oI the most exquisite choosing,
mingIed withthemerestbreathoIhumidity, oatsthroughthis
atmosphere where hot-house sensations cradle the drows
y
spirit.
MusIin in diaphanous masses rains over the window and
overthebed,spreadsinsnowycataracts.AndonthisbedIiesthe
ldoI,thesovereignqueen oI my dreams. But why is she here:
Who hasbrought her: What magic powerhas instaIIedher on
thisthrone oIreveryand oIpIeasure: No matter. She is here.
lrecognizeher.
Yes, those are her eyes whose ame pierces the gIoaming,
those subtIe and terribIe eyes that l recognize by their dread
mockeryl They attract,they subjugate, they devour the impru
[ 5 ]
dent gaze. UIten l have studied them-bIack stars compeIIing
curiosity and wonder.
= =
-
To what gooddemon am l indebted Ior this encompassing
atmosphere oI mystery, siIence, perIume and peace: 0 bIiss l
Whatwe are wontto caII IiIe,even in its happiest moments oI
expansion, has nothing in common with this supreme IiIe
which l am now experiencing, and which l reIish minute by
minute, second bysecond.
No l therearenomoreminutes,thereare no moreseconds l
Time has disappeared, it is Eternity that reigns, an eternity
oIbIiss l
8utaknockIaIIsonthe door, anawIuI, aresoundingknock,
andl IeeI, as in mydreamsoIheII,apitchIorkbeing stuck into
my-tomach.
Then a Spectre enters. lt is a baiIi6 come to torture me in
thenameoItheIaw, itisaninIamousconcubinecomewithher
compIaints to add the triviaIities oI her IiIe to the sorrows oI
mine, itisamessengerboyIromanewspapereditorcIamoring
Ior theIast instaIIment oIamanuscript.
The paradisiac room andthe idoI, thesovereign oI dreams,
the Sylphi, as thegreat Ken used to say, the whoIe enchant
menthasvanishedatthe Spectre`sbrutaIknock.
Horrors l l remember l Yes, l rememberl this hIthy hoIe,
thisabodeoIeternaIboredomistruIymine.Lookatthe stupid,
dusty, diIapidated Iurniture, the hearm without hre, without
embers, disgusting with spittIe, the sad windows where rain
hastracedIurrowsthrough the dust, manuscripts covered with
erasures orunhnished, thecaIendarwhere a penciIhas marked
all the direst dates!
AndthatperIumeoutoIanotherworIdwhichinmystate oI
exquisite sensibiIity was so intoxicating: AIas, another odor
has taken its pIace, oI staIe tobacco mixed with nauseating
mustiness. The rancid smeII oI desoIation.
ln thIs narrow worId, but with pIenty oI room Ior disgust,
there is one object aIone that deIights me: the viaI oI opium.
|]
an old and dreadful love ; and like all mistresses, alas ! prolifc
in caresses and betrayals.
Oh! yes ! Time has reappeared; Time is sovereign ruler
now, and with that hideous old man the entire retinue of Memo
ries, Regrets, Spasms, Fears, Agonies, Nightmares, Nerves, and
Rages have returned.
1 can assure you that the seconds are now strongly accented,
and rush out of the clock crying: "I am Life, unbearable and
implacable Life ! "
There is only one Second in human life whose mission it is
to bring good news, the good news that causes every one such
inexplicable terror.
]
Yes, Time reigns ; he has resumed his brutal tyranny. And he
pokes me with his double goad as if I were an ox. "Then hoi,
donkey! Sweat, slave ! Man, be damned and live! "
|7
]
VI
TO E VER Y MAN HIS
CHIMERA
UNDER avastgraysky, onavastanddustypIainwimoutpaths,
withoutgrass,withoutanettIe orathistIe, 1 cameuponseveraI
men bentdoubIe asthey waIked.
EachonecarriedonhisbackanenormousChimeraasheavy
as a sack oIour, as a sack oIcoaI, as the accoutrement oI a
Koman Ioot-soIdier.
ut the monstrous beast was no inanimate weight, on the
contrary,ithuggedandbore downheaviIy on theman with its
eIastic and powerIuI muscIes , it cIutched at the breast oI its
mount with enormous cIaws; and its IabuIous head overhung
the man`s Iorehead Iike those horribIe heImets with which
ancientwarriorstriedtostriketerrorintotheirenemies.
I questioned one oI these menand asked him where they
weregoingIikethat. He repIiedthathe didnotknow and that
none oI them knew; but that obviousIy they must be going
somewhere since they were impeIIed by an irresistibIe urge
togoon.
A curiousthingto note: not one oIthesetraveIers seemed

t

resen[)heIerociousbeasthangingaroundhIS ne

ndgIued
to his back; apparentIytheyconsidered it a part oIthemseIves.
AII those won and serious Iaces showed not theIeast sign oI
despair, under the depressing dome oIthe sky, with their Ieet
deep in the dust oI the earth as desoIate as the sky, they went
aIong with the resigned Iook oI men who are condemned to
heIorevep.

And the procession passed by me and disappeared in the

hazeoIthehorizon]ustwheretheroundedsurIaceoIthepIanet.
preventsman's gaze Irom IoIIowing.
|
8
!
And for a few moments I persisted in trying to understand
this mystery; but soon irresistible Indiference descended upon
me, and I was more cruelly oppressed by its weight than those
men had been by their crushing Chimeras.
VII
VEN US AND
THE MOTLE Y FOOL
WHAT a wonderful day! The vast park lies swooning under the
sun's burning eye, like youth under Love's dominion.
Not a sound gives voice to the universal ecstacy of things ;
even the waters seem to be asleep. Quite unlike human holidays,
this is an orgy of silence.
It is as though an ever more luminous light kept making
each object glitter with an ever more dazzling splendor ; as
though the frenzied fowers were trying to rival the azure of the
sky by the intensity of their colors, as though the heat, mak
ing the perfumes visible, were drawing them up to the sun
like smoke.
Yet, in the midst of all this universal joy I caught sight of a
griefstricken soul.
At the feet of a colossal Venus, all of a heap against the
pedestal, one of those socalled fools, those voluntary bufoons
who, with cap and bells and tricked out in a ridiculous and
gaudy costume, are called upon to make kings laugh when they
are beset by Boredom or Remorse, raises his tearflled eyes
toward the immortal Goddess.
And his eyes say: "I am the least and the loneliest of men,
deprived of love and friendship, wherein I am inferior even to
the lowest animals. Yet I, too, am made to understand and to
feel immortal Beauty! Ah! Goddess ! take pity on my fever
and my pain! "
But the implacable Goddess with her marble eyes continues
to gaze into the distance, at 1 know not what.
[
10 ]
HE DOG AND THE
S CENT.BOTTLE
COME HERE, my u doggie, and smell this
excellent perfume which comes from the best perfumer of Paris.
And the dog, wagging his tail, which, I believe, is that poor
creatu:.'e's way of laughing and smiling, came up and put his
curious nose on the uncorked bottle. Then, suddenly, he backed
away in terror, barking at me reproachfully.
"Ah miserable dog, if I had ofered you a package of excre
ment you would have snifed at it with delight and perhaps
gobbled it up. In this you resemble the public, which should
never be ofered delicate perfumes that infuriate them, but only
carefully selected garbage."
|
JJ
]
1
IX
THE BAD GLAZIER
THERE are certain natures, purely contemplative and totally
unft for action, which nevertheless, moved by some mysterious
and unaccountable impulse, act at times with a rapidity of which
they would never have dreamed themselves capable.
Like the man who, dreading some painful news, instead of
going for his mail as usual, cravenly prowls around his con
cierge's door without daring to go in; or the one who keeps a
letter for two weeks without opening it; or the man who only
makes up his mind at the end of six months to do something
t rgently needed doing for a year; then, al en,
- e ee t emselves hurled into action by an irresistible force
like an arrow out of a bow. e mora 1st and the doctor, who
pretend to know everything, are unable to explain how these
voluptuous, indolent souls suddenly acquire such a mad energy,
or how it is that, although incapable of doing te simplest and
most necessary things, they yet discover in themselves at a given
moment a lavish courage for performing the most absurd and
the most dangerous acts.
One of my friends, the most inofensive dreamer that ever
lived, once set fre to a forest to see, he explained, if it were
really as easy to start a fre as people said. Ten times in succes
sion the experiment failed; but the eleventh time it succeeded
only too well.
Aother will light a cigar standing beside a keg of gun
powder, just to see, to Jmout, to tehi!k, to prove!Qhim.
s.ILhs enouh_eny tplay the gambler, to taste the
p
l
easureQLfear, or for no reason at all, trough caprice,
through idleness.
[
12 ]
ltisthekindoIenergythatspringsIromboredom andday-
dreaming, and those who dispIay it so unexpectedIy are, m
generaI, as l have said, the most indoIent and dreamiet oI
mortaIs.
And another man l kow, who isso shythat l:eIowers his
eyes even when men !ook at him, so shy that it takes aII the
poorcouragehecanmustertoentera caI or,atthetheatre,to
approach the ticket controlleurs who seem to him invested with
aII the majesty oI Minos, lacchus and Kadamanthus, wiII sud
denIythrow his arms around an oIdman in the streetand kiss
him impetuousIy beIore the astonished eyes oI the passers-by.
Why: 8ecause . . . becausesuddenIythat particuIar physiog-
nomy seemed irresistibIy appeaIing: !erhaps; but it wouId
probabIybenearerthetruthto supposethathehimseII hasno
ideawhy.
l, too, have more than once been the victim oI these out-
burstsgy which ] ustiIy om concIuding that some maIi-
cious gets into us, Iorcin_.oLnurse|ces,.1o
carry outh

sostrd ,
Une morning l got up IeeIing out oI sorts, sad, and worn
outwithidIeness,andwithwhatseemedtomeacompeIIingurge
to dosomethingextraordinary,to perIorm somebriIIiant deed.
And l opened the window-aIas l
(l shouIdIiketo point outthatwith certainpersonspIaying
practicaI ] okes is not the resuIt oI pIanning or scheming, but
a Iortuitous inspiration akin, iI onIybecause oIthe compeIIing
Iorce oIthe impuIse,tothathumorcaIIedhystericaIbydoctors,
satanic by thosewithmore insightthan doctors, that drives us
toward a muItitude oI dangerous or improper actions. )
The hrst person l noticed inthestreetwas s

whose
piercinganddiscordantcryoateduptomethroughtheheavy,
hIthy !aris air. lt wouId be impossibIe Ior me to say why l
wassuddenIyseizedbyanarbitraryIoathingIorthispoorman.
"Heyl Heyl " l shouted, motioning him to come q
thethoughtthatmy room was up six ights oI stairs, andthat
[13 ]

themanmustbehavingaterribIetimegettingupthem withhis
IragiIewares,addednotaIittIetomyhiIarity.
FinaIIy he appeared. AIter Iooking curiousIy over his panes
oIgIassoneby one, I excIaimed. "Whatl You have no coIored
gIass, no pink, no red, no bIuel No magic panes, no panes oI
!aradise: ScoundreI, what do you mean by going into poor
neighborhoods without a singIe gIass to makeIiIe beautiIuI l "
Andlpushedhim,stumbIingandgrumbIing,towardthe stairs.
CoingoutonmybaIconylpickedupaIittIeowerpot, and
whenthegIazierappearedattheentrancebeIow, I Ietmyengine
oI warIaIIdown perpendicuIarIy ontheedge oI hispack. The
shock knocked him over and, IaIIing on his back, he succeeded
inbreakingtherestoIhispoorambuIatorystockwithashatter
ing noiseas oIIightning striking a crystaI paIace.
And drunk with my madness, l shouted down at him Iuri
ousIy. "Make IiIe beautiIuI l Make IiIe beautiIuI l "
Such erratic pranks are not without danger and one oIten
has to pay dearIy Iorthem. 8ut what is an eternity oI damna-
tion compared to an inhnity oI pIeasure in a singIe second:
o ': I
'1]
j h,!;,J:c ''
'
' rv
: f(.- .
D!

l ,
.
. '
x
ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING
AT LAST! I am alone! Nothing can be heard but the rumbling
of a few belated and weary cabs. For a few hours at least silence
will be ours, if not sleep. At last ! the tyranny of the human !
face has disappeared, and now there will be no one but myself

l'
to make me sufer.
At last ! I am allowed to relax in a bath of darkness ! First
a double turn of the key in the lock. This turn of the key will,
it seems to me, increase my solitude and strengthen the barri
cades that, for the moment, separate me from the world.
Horrible life ! Horrible city! Let us glance back over the
events of the day: saw several writers, one of them asking me
if you could go to Russia by land (he thought Russia was
an island, l suppose) ; disagreed liberally with the editor of a
review who to all my objections kept saying: "Here we are on
the side of respectability," implying that all the other periodicals
were run by rascals ; bowed to twenty or more persons of whom
ffteen were unknown to me; distributed hand shakes in about
the same proportion without having frst taken the precaution
of buying gloves; to kill time during a shower, dropped in on a
dancer who asked me to design her a costume for Venustre;
went to pay court to a theatrical director who in dismissing
me said: "Perhaps you would do well to see Z u ; he is the
dullest, stupidet and most celebrated of our authors ; with him
you might get somewhere. Consult him and then we'll see";
boasted (why?) of several ugly things I never did, and cravenly
denied some other misdeeds that I had accomplished with the
greatest delight ; ofense of fanfaronnade, crime against human
dignity; refused a slight favor to a friend and gave a written
[ 15 ]
recommendationto a per!ectrogue; Lordl Iet'shopethat's aII l
Uiatis5edwitheverything, dissatished withmyseI!, I Iong
to redeem myseI! and to restore my pride in the siIence and
soIitude o!the night. bouIs o!those whom I have Ioved, souIs
o!thosewhomlhavesung,strengthenme,sustainme,keepme
!romthevanitieso!theworIdanditscontaminating!umes; and
You,dearCodl grantmegracetoproducea!ewbeauti!uIverses
to prove to myseI!that l am notthe Iowest o! men, that l am
notin!eriortothosewhom l despise.
l 16
]
THE

XI

WOMAN WILD
AND THE
FASHIONABLE COQUE TTE
"REALLY, my dear, you weary me beyond endurance and I
have no pity Ior you; to hear you sighing one wouId think
you were as mIserabIe as those aged women who toiI in the
heIds, or the oId beggar women who pick up crusts at taven
doors.
"1 at Ieast your sighs indicated remorse they wouId be
some credit to you, but they mean nothing more than the
satietyoIgratihcationandthedespondencyoItoomuchIeisure.
And younever cease youruseIessbabbIe. 'You must Iove mel
I needso to beIovedl ComIort mehere, caressmetherel ' 8ut
I have an idea whichmay cure you. Fortwo M and without
goingveryIar,theremaybeawayrightinthemidstoItheIair.
"Now just observe, iI youpIease,this soIid iron cage, and
seethathairymonsterhowIingIikeone oIthedamned, shaking
the bars Iike an orang-utan maddened by exiIe, imitating to
perIection both the circuIar spring oI the tiger, and the stupid
posturing of a white bear, and kindly notice that it has a form
veryvagueIyresembIing yours.
"This monster is one oI those animaIsgeneraIIy caIIed 'my
angeI l '-that is, a woman. The other monster, the oneyeIIing
his head o0 and brandishing a stick, is a husband. He has
chained his Iegitimate spouse as though she were an animaI,
and dispIays her at aII thestreet Iairs with, oI course, the per-
mission oItheauthorities.
"Now watch careIuIIyl See with what voracity (and not
shammed either, perhaps} shetears apart those Iiving rabbits
[ 17 ]
andsquaIIingchickensthatherkeeperhasthrowntoher.'Come,
comel ' he says, 'one must aIways keep something Ior a rainy
dayl ' andwiththesewords oIwisdomhecrueIIysnatchesaway
her prey, the entraiIs stiII cIingingto the teeth oI the Ierocious
beast-woman, ! mean.
"That's it l A goodbIow oI yoursticktocaImher l For she
is dartingthe most terrihc and greedygIances at the piIIered
Iood.CoodCodl thatstickisnostagepropl Didyouhearhow
that whaek resounded, in spite oI her artihciaI coat oI hair:
Moreo er her eyes are starting Irom her head, and she yeIIs
more naturaln .ThesparksIairIyy IromherasIrom iron
"Such are the conjugaI customs oI these descendants oI
Adam and Eve, these works oI thy hands, 0 my Codl This
woman has certainIy the rightto compIain, aIthough aIter aII,
thetittiIatingdeIightsoIIame areperhapsnotunknownto her.
There areotherirremediabIemisIortuneswithoutsuchcompen
sations. 8ut intheworId!nt_ whichshehasbeenthrown, ithas
never occuredto her that women deserve a better Iate.
" owwhatoIus,myprecious? SeeingtheheIIswithwhich
the worId abounds, what do you expect me to think oI your
prettyIittIeheII, youwhoIieonstu0sassoItasyour 0\ skin,
who eat onIy cooked meat careIuIIy cut Ior you by a skiIIed
servant:
"Andwhatcantheymattertome,aIIthoseIittIesighssweII-
ing your perIumed breast, my haiI and hearty coquette: And
aII those a0ectations you have Iearned Irom books, or that
indeIatigabIemeIanchoIy which inspires anythingbut pity in a
spectator. !ntruth,sometimes! amseizedwith adesiretoteach
you what reaI misIortune is.
"Seeing you Iike this, my dainty beauty, your Ieet in the
mireandyoureyesturnedswooningIytowardtheskyasthough
waiting Ior a king, ! cannot heIp thinking oI a Irog invoking
the !deaI. !Iyou despise 'KingLog' (that's what ! am now, as
youveryweII know} , beware oIthe crane who will crunch you
up, andgobble you up, andkill you at his pleasure!
[ 18]
"Although I may be a poet, I am not such a dupe as you
would like to believe, and if you weary me too often with your
precious whinings, I am going to treat you like the wild woman,
or else throw you out of the window like an empty bottle."
`
[ 19
]
XII
CROWDS
IT IS NOT given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoy-
) ing a crowd is an art; and only he can relish a debauch of
vitality at the expense of the human species, on whom, in his
cradle, a fairy has bestowed the love of masks and masquerad
ing, the hate of home, and the passion for roaming.
- Multitud identical terms, and interchangeable by
the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people
s solitude is equally unable to be alone 1 a bustling cro.
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able
to be himself or some one else, as he chooses. Like those wan
dering souls who go looking for a body, he enters as he likes
into each man's personality.r him alone everything is vac1ti
and if certain places seem cTsed to him, it is only because in
his eyes they are not worth visiting.
The solitary and thoughtful stroller fnds a singular intoxi
cation in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose
himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked
up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk
in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his
own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that
chance ofers.
What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing
compared with this inefable orgy, this divine prostitution of

the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to

the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.

It is a good thing sometimes to teach the fortunate of this
world, if only to humble for an instant their foolish pride, that
there are higher joys than theirs, fner and more uncircum-
[
20
]
scribed. The Iounders oI coIon, shepherds of peopIes, mis
sionarypriestsexiIedtotheendsoItheearth, doubtIessIyknow
something oIthismysterious drunkenness , and inthe midst oI
the vast IamiIy create4

( ueir gnius,they must oIten Iaugh

at'hcsc who pity them because oI their troubIed Iortunes and
chasteIives.
[
21

XIII
WIDOWS
VAUVENARGUES says that certain avenues in the public parks
are haunted almost exclusively by disappointed ambitions, frus
trated inventors, abortive glories, and broken hearts, by all
those tumultuous and secret souls still agitated by the last rum
blings of the storm, who withdraw as far as possible from the
insolent eyes of the gay and the idle. These shady retreats are
the meeting places of all those whom life has maimed.
And toward these places poets and phosophers love to
direct their avid speculations. 'ere they are sure tfnd rich
pasture. For, as I have said before, they scornfully avoid,
above all other places, the ones where the ri_Ijoyous con-
'. . " gregate; that trepidation in a void has nothing to attract them.
0uecontrarythey l thmselves irresistably drawn toward
everything that is feeble, destitute, orp1aned, and forlorn
,
An experienced eye is never mistaken. It can at once decipher
in those set or dejected faces, in those eyes, dull and hollow or
still shining with the last sparks of struggle, in those deep and
numerous wrinkles, in that slow or dislocated gait, the innumer
able stories of love deceived, of devotion unrecognized, of efort
nrecompensed, of hunger and cold silently endured.
Have you ever noticed widows, poverty-stricken widows,
sitting on lonely benches? Whether they are wearing mourning
or not they are not difcult to recognize. Moreover, in the mourn
ing of the poor there is invariably sOnethiI__anting, an
absence of consistency that makes it so heartbreaking.-The poor
a;e odt(1eniggardly with their sorrow. The ric faunt
tb!i.s. in. all itscoI!ummate perfection:
Wihsdder, and more saddening, the widow holding
[
22
]
by the hand a little child with whom she cannot share her
thought, or the one who is completely alone? I do not know . o .
I once followed for many hours one of those solitary widows ;
she held herself stif and straight in her little threadbare shawl,
a stoic pride apparent in her whole bearing.
She was seemingly condemned by her absolute solitude to
lead the life of an old bachelor, and this masculine character of
her habits added a mysterious piquancy to their austerity. I
know not in what miserable eating-place she had lunched, nor
how. I followed her into a reading-room and watched her for
a long time as she looked through the newspapers with eager
eyes -eyes once scalded by bitter tears -searching for some
thing of a passionate and a personal interest.
Finally, in the afternoon, under a lovely autumn sky, one of
those skies out of which such a multitude of memories and
regrets rain down, she sat on a bench some distance from the
crowd, to listen to one of those concerts ofered the Parisian
public by military bands.
This is probably the little debauch of the innocent old lady
(or purifed old lady) , the well-earned consolation for one of
those dull days without a friend, without conversation, without
j oy, without a soul to confde in, which God, perhaps for many
years now, has allowed to descend upon her three hundred and
sixty-fve times a year.
And another:
I can never help casting a glance, which if not universally
sympathetic is at least curious, at the mob of pariahs that
crowd around the enclosure of an outdoor concert. The orches
tra pours its festive, martial, or voluptuous airs into the night ;
glittering gows trail on the ground; glances cross ; the idle,
tired of having nothing to do, attitudinize and pretend to be
indolently relishing the music. Here nothing that is not rich
_ and happy; nothing that does not breathe forth and inspire
indolence and the pleasure of heedlessly living; nothing--except
.
that rabble over there leaning on the outside enclosure, catching
[ 23
]
a snatch o! music gratis at the wind's pIeasure, and gazing at
the sparkIing spIendor within.
The reection o!thej oys o!the rich in the eyes o!thepoor
is aIways a curious sight. 8ut on this particuIar day, in that
crowd o! work bIouses and caIico dresses, my attention was
caughtbyahgureo!suchnobiIitythatitstoodout in shocking
contrasttothe environingvuIgarity.
This was a ta|I majestic woman whose whoIe bearing
expressedanobiIitysuchasI cannotremembereverhavingseen
be!ore, not even in the coIIections o! the aristocratic beauties
o!thepast.The odoro!proud virtueemanated!romher entire
person.Hersad,emaciated!acewas inharmonywiththeheavy
mourning she was wearing. She, too, Iike the pIebeians around
her, o!whomshetooknonotice,gazed atthat other gIittering
worId with a thought!uI eye, gentIy nodding her head as she
Iistenedtothemusic.
Strangesight l "SureIy," I saidtomyseI!, "thatis a poverty
-i! poverty it be-which is incapabIe o! sordid economy,
her nobIe countenance is proo! o! that. Why then does she
choose to stay in a miIieu where she oers so conspicuous
acontrast
8ut drawing nearer to her out o! curiosity, l seemed to
understandthereason.ThetaII widow washoIdingaIittIe boy
by the hand who, Iike herseI!, was dressed in mourning. the
price o! admission, no matter how modest, wouId perhaps be
sucient to pay !or one o!the chiId's needs, or pre!erabIy !or
some superuity-a toy.
And now she wiII return home on !oot, meditating and
dreaming, aIone, aIways aIone, !or a chiId is turbuIent and
seIsh, without gentIeness or patience, and cannot, even Iess
than a simpIe animaI, a dog or a cat, serve as the conhdant
o!Ione|y sorrows.
[
2
4]
XIV
THE OLD CLOWN
/ c

HOLIDAY crowds swarmed, sprawled, and frolicked everywlre

It was one of those gala days that all the clowns, j ugglers, ani- _
mal trainers, and ambulant hucksters count on, long in advance,
.
to make up for the lean seasons of the year.
/
On such days people seem to forget everything, all their
trouB a tIr tOl
l
; they become like childre
!
' For t
h
e

youngsters it means freedom

,
the horror of school adjourned
for twenty-four hours. For the grown-ups it is an armistice
concluded with the malignant forces of the world, a respite
from universal struggle and strife.

E
ven a man of the upper classes, or one engaged in intellec
tual pursuits, can with difculty escape the infuence of tis
popular j ubilee. They absorb unconsciously their share of this
carefree atmosphere. For my part, as a true Parisian, I never
fail to visit all the booths that faunt themselves on these
periodic occasions.
And how they vied with one another in fantastic competi
tion! They bawled and they screeched and they bellowed. There
was a mixture of cries, crashing brass, and exploding freworks.
Punchinellos and pantaloons, burned by the sun and toughened
bind
-
;d
--
;in
, -made grotesque faces and, with the self
confdence of seasoned actors sure of their efect, shot out their
quips and jests and sallies, of a s
oli
d an. d heavy humor akin
to Moliere's. Strong-men, proud of their monstrous muscles,
without forehead or cranium like orangoutans, strutted majes
tically in their tights that had been washed for the occasion the
day before. And dancers, as lovely as fairies or princesses,
leaped and pirouetted with the lantern light sparkling in
their skirts.
[ 25 ]
Therewasnothingbut!ight, dust,shouts,j oy,tumu!t, some
spent money, others took it in; and bom were equa!!y happy.
Litt!e tots tugged at their mothers` skirts begging Ior candy-
sticks, or cIimbed on their Iathers` shou!ders to have a better
view oI a conjuror as dazz!ing as a god. And dominating a!!
the other odors, the sme!! oI Irying Iat h!!ed the air !ike the
incense oI the Iair.
At the end, at the extreme end oI the row oI booths, as
thoughhehadexi!e

himse

!Iins

ame

roma!!these s

!e

ndors,
! saw a pitiIu! o!d c!own, bent, decrepit, the ruin oI a man,
. !eaning againstoe I theposts ohis cabin, a cabiri more

miserab!e than that oI the !owest savage, and in which two

cand!e ends, guttering and smoking, !ighted on!y too weI! its
penury.
Everywhere joy, money-making, debauchery, everywhere
the assurance oI tomorrow's dai!y-bread; everywhere Irenetic
outbursts oI vita!ity. Hereabso!ute misery, and a misery made
a!!themorehorrib!ebybeingtrickedoutin comicrags, whose
mot!ey contrast was due moreto necessitythan_o art. He was
not!aughing,thepoorretch!Hewasnotweeping, hewasnot
dancing, he was not gesticu!ating, he was not shouting, he
sang no song, sad or gay, he was so!iciting nothing. He was
mute andmotion!ess. He hadgiven up, hehad abdicated. His
Iate was sea!ed.
ut with what a proIound and unIorgettab!e expression his
eyeswanderedoverthecrowds andthe!ights,themoving ood
thatstoppedjustshortoIhisrepu!sivemiseryl lIe!ttheterrib!e
hand oI hysteria grip my throat, ! Ie!t rebe!!ious tears that
wou!dnotIa!!, b!urringmysIght.

Watwas!todo:Whyasktheunhappymanwhatcuriosity,
what wonder he had to show in those Iou! shadows behind his
tattered curtain: !n truth, ! did not dare, and, a!though you
may !augh at my reason, ! admit it was because ! Ieared to
humi!iate him. ! had hna!!y decided to !eave some money
on the p!atIorm as ! passed, hoping that he wou!d guess my
[2 ]
intention, when a sudden surge of the crowd, caused by l know
not what disturbance, swept me away from him.
Obsessed by the sight, l looked back, trying to analyze my
sudden depression, and l said to myself: "l have just seen
the prototype of the old writer who has been the brilliant enter
tainer of the generation he has outlived, the old poet without
friends, without family, without children, degraded by poverty
and the ingratitude of the public, and to whose booth the fckle
world no longer cares to come!"
U
[
27 ]
xv
CAKE
I WAS traveling. The country around me was of an inexpressible
grandeur and sublimity. And I think a little of it must have
passed into my soul at that moment. My thoughts leaped with
the lightness of the air itself; the vulgar passions, such as
hate and profane love, seemed to me now as far away as the
clouds that foated in the gorges at my feet; my soul seemed
as immense and pure as the enveloping dome of the sky, and
earthly things echoed in my memory as faintly as the bells of
the invisible herds browsing far, far away on the slopes of
another mountain. Over the motionless little lake, jet black from
the immensity of its depth, the shadow of a cloud passed occa
sionally, like the refection of an airy giant's cloak fying across
the sky. And I remember feeling with a joy, mingled with awe,
that rare and solemn sensation one has at seeing some great
movement evolving without a sound. In short, thanJs to the
comEelling beauty around me, I was at peace with myself Jnd
with t"un-ivee;in my jerfect beatitude and my total forget
fulne_f earthly evil, I was beginning to think the nespaj

nifg1oCoe-s6-riiiculous, after all, in wanting to make us
belie
.
ve tat m

n is o;o. Whel-fncbIgaIi
makmg Its eXlgelcles felt, I began to thmk of repiurmg the
fatigue and satisfying the hunger caused by my long climb.
I took out of my pocket a tk piece of bread, a leathern cup,
and a small bottle of a certain elixir which chemists at that
time sold to tourists to be mixed, on occasion, with snow.
I was peacefully cutting my bread when a slight sound
made me look up. There in front of me stood a ragged little
urchin, dark and disheveled, with hollow eyes that devoured
mYread fercely and, as it seemed to me, pleadingly, and I
[
28 ]
>
heard him gasp in a Iow hoarse voice. "0akel "ouId not
heIp Iaughing at the appeIation with which he thought ht to
honormy near-white bread, and I cut o0 a generous sIice and
o0ered itto him. SIowIy he came toward me, never taking his
eyeso0the coveted object, thensnatching it out oI my hand,
he quickIy backe away as iI he Ieared that my o0er had not
beensincere, orthat ! had aIready repented it.
8ut at thatmomenthe wasknocked down by anotherIittIe
savage who had sprung Irom heaven knows where, and so
exac Iike the hrst that I took them to be twins. The two oI
them roIIed on the ground struggIing Ior possession oI me
precious booty, neither wiIIing to share it with the other.
Furious, the hrst cIutched the second by the hair , and the
second seizeduIus
rs ears between histeeth then,
with a s_IocaI oath, s i|_me|Th Iiti-
mowner oI the cake tried to hok_h IittIe cIaws in(he
usurper`s eyes, the Iatter in tur.i did his best to e hIs
tary with one hand whiIe trying to sIip the prize oI war
intohispocketwiththeother.8ut strengthened by despair, the
IoserstruggIedto hisIeet and,butting his head intothe other`s
stomach, sent the victor sprawIing on the ground. 8ut why
describethehideoushghtwhichIastedIongerthantheirchiIdish
strength had seemedto warrant The cake traveI rmhand
to hand and changed pockets at every instant, changing, aIas l
in size as weII, and when hnaIIy, exhausted a _
covered with bIood, they stopped Irom the sheer impossibiIity
oI going on, no eause Ior Ieud remained, the piece oI bread
had disappeared, and the crumbs, scattered aII around, were
indistinguishabIe Irom the grains oI sand with which the
were min e
hisperIormancehaddarkenedtheIandscape, ndthecaIm
joy appearance oI the two IittIe
wretches had compIeteIy vanished. Saddened, I sat there Ior
a Iong time saying over and over to myseII: "So there is a
superb country where bread is caIIe
deIicacy that it is enough to start a
'?

}
XV!
THE CLOCK
THE CHINESE can teII the time in the eyes oI a cat.
Une day a missionary
, waIking inthe suburbs oI Nanking,
noticedthathe had Iorgotten his watch and asked a IittIe boy
the time.
The urchin oI the CeIestiaI Empire hesitated at hrst, then
onsecond thought, repIied. "!`IIteII you,"and disappeared. An
instant Iater he returned with an enormous cat in his arms.
HeIooked itinthe eye, as peopIe say, andwithouta moment's
hesitation decIared. "!t is not quite noon." Which was true.
AsIor me, when ! Iean Iorward to gaze atIoveIy FIine ~
so appropriateIy named-who is at once the honor oI her
sex, the pride oI my heart and the perIume oI my mind,
whether it be by night orbyday, in dazzIing Iight or in deep-
est shade, aIways at the back oI her adorabIe eyes ! can dis
tinctIy see the time, aIways the same-vast, soIemn, wide
as space, without minutes and without seconds-a motionIess
hour notmarked on any cIock, and yet as airy as a breath, as
quickasagIance.
And iI some tiresome intruder shouId come to disturb me
whiIemy eyesrest on thisdeIicious diaI, iI some unmannerIy
and intoIerant Cenie, some Demon out oI time, shouId come
askingme . "Whatare you Iooking at so attentiveIy What are
you Iooking Ior in that creature's eyes Can youteII the time
oI day in them, idIe and prodigaI mortaI " ! shouId repIy
without hesitating. "Yes, ! can teII the time, it is Eternityl "
Andi s this not a reaIIy meritorious madrigaI, Madam, and
just as amboyant as yourseII !ndeed, embroidering this bit
oIgarrishgaIIantry has given me somuchpIeasurethat! shaII
askIornothinginreturn.
[30 ]
XVII
A HE MIS PHERE IN
YOUR HAIR
LONG, long let me breathe the fragrance of your hair. Let me
plunge my face into it like a thirsty man into the water of a
spring, and let me wave it like a scented handkerchief to stir
memories in the air.
If you only knew all that I see! all that I feel ! all that I
hear in your hair ! My soul voyages on its perfume as other
men's souls on music.
Your hair holds a whole dream of masts and sails ; it holds
seas whose monsoons waft me toward lovely climes where
space is bluer and more profound, where fruits and leaves and
human skin perfume the air.
In the ocean of your hair I see a harbor teeming with melan
cholic songs, with lusty men of every nation, and ships of
every shape, whose elegant and intricate structures stand out
against the enormous sky, home of eternal heat.
In the caresses of your hair I know again the languors of
long hours lying on a couch in a fair ship's cabin, cradled by
the harbor's imperceptible swell, between pots of fowers and
cooling water jars.
On the burning hearth of your hair I breathe in the fra
grance of tobacco tinged with opium and sugar ; in the night
of your hair I see the sheen of the tropic's blue infnity; on
the shores of your hair I get drunk with the smell of musk and
tar and the oil of cocoanuts.
Long, long, let me bite your black and heavy tresses. When
I gnaw your elastic and rebellious hair l seem to be eating
memories.
[ 31 ]
XVIII
L' IN VITATION AU VOYAG E
Turkr is a wonderIuI country, a country oI Cocaigne, they
say,thatl dreamoIvisitingwithanoIdIove.Astrange country
Iost inthemists oItheNorth andthatmight be caIIedthe East
oI the West, the China oI Europe, so IreeIy has a warm and
capricious Iancy been aIIowed to run riot there, iIIustrating it
patientIyandpersistantIywithan artIuI and deIicate vegetation.
A reaI country oI Cocaigne where everything is beautiIuI,
rich, honest and caIm, where order is Iuxury`s mirror, where
IiIe is unctuous and sweet to breathe, where disorder, tumuIt,
and the unex_ected are shut out; whena_mess Js weded
_iIence, whereeventhecookingispoetic,rich
,
andyetsti_
Iating as weII; where everymg, dear ove, resembIes you.
YouknowthatIeverishsicknessw!ichcomes over us in our
coId despairs,thatnostaIgiaIorcountries wehaveneverknown,
that anguish oI curiosity: There is a country that resembIes
you, whereeverythingisbeautiIuI,rich,honestandcaIm,where
Iancy has buiIt and decorated an UccidentaI ChIna, where IiIe
is sweet to breathe, where happiness is wedded to siIence. lt is
there wemust Iive, itis there wemust die.
Yes, it is there we must go to breathe, to dream, and to
proIong the hours in an inhnity oI sensations. A musician has
written l'/nvitation I l valse; who wiII write l'Invitation au
voyage thatmaybeo6eredtothebeIoved,tothechosensister:
Yes,insuchanatmosphereitwouIdbegoodtoIive-where
there are more thoughts in sIower hours, where cIocks strIke
happiness with a deeper, a more signihcant soIemnity.
Un shining paneIs or on darkIy rich and giIded Ieathers,
discreet paintingsrepose, as deep, caIm and devout asthe souIs
'?}
o!thepainterswho depictedthem. bunsetsthrowtheir gIowing
coIors on the waIIs o! dining-room and drawing-room, si!ting
so!tIythrough IoveIy hangings or intricate high windows with
muIIionedpanes.AIIthe!urnitureisimmense,!antastic,strange,
armed with Iocks and secrets Iike aII civiIized souIs. Mirrors,
metaIs, !abrics, pottery, and works o!the goIdsmith's art pIay
a mute mysterious symphony !or the eye, and every corner,
every crack, every drawer and curtain`s !oId breathes !orth a
curious per!ume, a per!ume o! bumatra whispering come back,
which isthe souI o!the abode.
Atrue country o! Cocaigne, ! assure you, where everything
isrich, shining andcIeanIikeagoodconscience orweII-scoured
kitchen pots, Iike chiseIed goId or variegated gems l AII the
treasures o! the worId abound there, as in the house o! a
Iaborious man who has put the whoIe worId in his debt. A
singuIar country and superior to aII others, as art is superior
to Nature who is there trans!ormed by dream, corrected,
remodeIed and adorned.
!etthemseek and seekagain,IetthemendIessIy push back
the Iimits o! their happiness, those horticuIturaI AIchemists l
!etthem o0er prizes o! sixty, a hundred thousand orins !or
the soIution o! their ambitious probIems l As !or me, ! have
!oundmyblack tulip, !have!oundmyblue dahlia!
!ncomparabIe ower, rediscovered tuIip, aIIegoricaI dahIia,
it isthere, is it not, in that beauti!uI country, so caIm, so !uII
o! dream, that you must Iive, that you must bIoom: WouId
you not there be framed within your own analogy, would you
not see yourseI! reected there in your own correspondence,
asthemysticssay
Dreamsl AIways dreams l And :he more ambitious and
deIicate the souI, aII the more inpossibIe the dreams. Every
manpossesseshisowndoseo!naturaIopium,ceaseIesIysecreted
and renewed, and !rom birth to death how many hours can
wereckono!positivepIeasure, o!success!uIanddecidedaction
bhaII we ever Iive in, be part o!, that picture my imagination

has painted, and that resembIes you: _

J
_
[
}
These treasures, these !urnishings, this Iuxury, this order,
these per!umes, and these miracuIous owers, they are youl
And you are the great rivers too, and the caIm canaIs. And
those great ships that they bear aIong Iaden with riches and
!rom which rise the saiIors' rhythmic chants, they are my
thoughts that sIeep or that rise on the sweIIs o! your breast.
You Iead them gentIytoward the sea which is the !nhnite, as
you mirror the sky's depth in the crystaIIine purity o! your
souI ,-and when, weary with roIIing waters and sur!eited
with the spoiIs o!the U:ient, they return to their port o! caII,
stiII they are my thoughts coming back, enriched, !rom the
lnhnite to yo

[
34 ]
XIX
THE POOR CHILD' S TOY
I SHOULD LIKE to o0er a suggestion Ior an innocent diversion.
There are so Iew amusements that are not cuIpabIel
When you go out in the morning with the settIed idea oI
rambIing over the highways, hII your pockets with IittIe penny
devices such as those at puppets manipuIated by a singIe
string, a bIacksmith hammering on an anviI, a knight on a
horsewhosetaiI is awhistIe,andoutsidethetavernsandunder
the trees oer them as iIts to aII the unknown poor chiIdren
you may meet. You wiII see their e es en unbeIievabIy wi e.
At rst they wont dare to take them; they won`t beIieve in
_heir _ood Iortune. 1hen their hands wiII cIutch the present
eagerIy, and they wiII run away Iike cats who go Iar o0 to
eatanymorseIyougivethem,havingIearnedtobewaryoImen.
8ehind the iron gate oI an immense garden, at the back
oI which couId be seen a charming chateau gIeaming whiteIy
in the sun, stood a beautiIuI, bIooming IittIe boy smartIy
dressed in country togs that are aIways so enchanting.
!uxury, careIree days, andthe habituaI spectacIe oI abund-
ance make such chiIdren so IoveIy that they seem to be made
oI a dierent cIay Irom the chiIdren oI the moderateIy, and
theverygoor.
8esidehim onthe grassIay a magnihcenttoy, as bIooming
asitsmaster,giIdedandshining,dressedinpurpIe,andcovered
with pIumes and gIittering beads. 8u: the chiId was paying no
attentiontohisIavoritetoy, andthis iswhathewasIookingat .
Un the other side oI the gate on the highway, standing in
the midst oI nettIes and thistIes, was another chiId, yitiIuII_
bIak and grimy, one oI those urchin-pariahs whose beauty
[ 35 ]
an impartia!eye wou!d discover if, asthe eye ofa connoisseur
detects an authentic master under thecoachmaker`s varnish, it
pee!ed othe disgusting patina of ov
e symboIicbarsseparatingtwohighroad
ann, f poor cd was showing the rich chiId his
own toy, which the !atter was scrutinizing breathIessIy, as
thoughithadbeensomerare andunheardof object. WeII, this
toythatthegrimy!ittIebratwasshaking,teeteringandturning
in a boxcovered with wire, was a Iivine parents out
of economy, l suppose, had taken the m nature itseIf.
Andthe two chiIdren were !aughingtogetherIike brothers,
withteeoIzdentkal whitenes

-
[ 36 ]
xx
THE FAI R I ES ' G I F TS
GRAND ASSEMBLY oI the Fairies, gathered together to e6ect
the distribution oI giIts among the new-born inIants who had
comeintotheworIdintheIast twenty-Iour hours.
AII these ancient and capricious Sisters oI Destiny, these
strange mothers oI j oy and sorrow, were very di6erent Irom
one another , some were sadand surIy, othershad a mad, mis
chievous gaiety, somewereyoungandhadaIwaysbeenyoung,
otherswere oId and had aIwaysbeen oId.
AII the Iathers who beIieved in \airies

d come to the
assembIy withtheirinIantsin their arms.
TaIents, FacuIties, good Fortunes, invincibIe Conjunctures
were piIed up beside the tribunaI, Ior aII the worId Iike com-
mencement-day prizes. 8ut the di6erence was that these CiIts
were not the recompense Ior any e6ort but, onthe contrary, a
IavoraccordedtoapersonwhohasnotyetIived,aIavorcapabIe
oI dciding his destiny and oI becoming either the cause oI
his misIortune or the source oI aII his happiness.
The poor lairies were in a pother , Ior there was a very
large crowd of petitioners, and the intermediary world, situated
between man and Cod, is subject, just as ours is, to the Iaw
oI Time and aII his inhniteprogeny,the Days, the Hours, the
Minutes,the Seconds.
ln truth, they were as urried as one oI the ministers oI
state on his audience day, or the empIoyees oI a pawn-shop
when a nationaI hoIiday authorizes the redemption oI pIedges
gratis. l even think they gIanced at the cIock wi]b as much
impatienceashumanjudgeswhohavebeensittingonthebench
aIId and cannot heIp Ionging Ior their dinners, meir wives
| 7 ]
:_
. r
I
v
and their beIoved bed-room sIippers. l! in su_ernaturaI justice
there is some precipitancy and con!usio, we ought not toe
too surprised tohndemt!i
_
human justice as weII.
Utherwise we ourseIves wouId be unjust ju _
~
And soit happened on that day, a ! Iunders re com-
mitted which might beIookedupon as od prudence, rather
thanap were the distinctive and eternaI characteristic
o! the

- .
" -Tuste-ma_neticpower o! attracting weaIth was awarded
totheheiro!animmenseI rich!amiIy, andashehadnotbeen
endowed with a sense o! charity or the Ieast covetousness or
m e good thin_s o! this wo, !e was sure to hnd himseI! ter-
ibIy embarrassed b_his miIIionsIatet L,
us aIso, the Iove o! 8eauty, and poetic !ower, were
awarded Io the son o a _iti!uI pauper, a stone quarrier by
trade, who c
_
no way either advanc

the taIents, o gIe

viate the needs o!!is de_IorabIe o6s_ring.
lhave !orgotten to say thatthe distributiono:: th soIemn
occasions is without appeaI, an thomay be reIt:sed.,
Thinking their task accompIished, aII the1airies hau riscn,
!or not a singIe gi!t was Ie!t, no bounty remained to throw to
this human horde, when a worthy man, a poor IittIe shop-
keeper, l!ancy,sprang!orward, andcatchinghoIdo!themuIti
coIored vapor gown o! the nearest Fairy, cried.
"8ut, Madaml You have !orgotten us l What about my
baby: l hate tothink l've made the trip !or nothing."
The Fairy mightweIIhavebeen discountenanced, !orthere
was nothing Ieft. HappiIy, she remembered in time a weII
known, though rareIy appIied, Iaw o! the supernaturaI worId
-theworIdinhabitedby impaIpabIe deities who,beingIriends
o! man, must o!ten adapt themseIves to his human passions,
such as the lairies, Cnomes, SaIamanders, SyIphids, SyIph,
Nixies, and Undines (maIe and !emaIe} -I re!er to the Iaw
that, in such a case as the present when gi!ts run short, gives
a Fairy the power to accord one more giIt, provided she has
imagination enoughto create one on the spot.
[ 38 ]
Sothe good Fairy repIied with a seI!-possession worthy o!
her rank. " ow` on your son. + .I bestow upon him
eGift of pleasin ."
easing: 8ut pIeasing how: !Ieasing why:" asked the
obstinate IittIe shop-keeper who was doubtIessIy Qe o! those
reasoners, onIytoocommon,who is incapabIe o! risingto the
Iogic oI the Absurd.
"8ecause l 1ust because l "repIied the incensed Fairy, turn
ingherback on him.
Kejoining the cohort o! Fairies, she said. "What do you
think oI that vain IittIe Frenchman: He insists upon under
standing everything, and even a!ter he has obtained the best
giIt oI the Iot Ior his son, he stiII dares to question, and to
dispute the IndisputabIe."
' " ]
XX!
THE TE MP TATIONS
OR
EROS , P L U TOS AND FAME
LAST NIGHT two superb Satans, and a not less extrafii
aJ
Sataness, clim
be
d the mysterious

stairs up whih H launches
ns-a-ss
au
lts on the weakness of

leping nd communicates
with him in secret. Gloriously they stood before me, like actors
on a stage. A sulphurous splendor emanated from the three
personnages thus standing out in relief against the dense back
ground of the night. They looked so proud, with so imperious
an air, that atJ!s! LmistQQk them jor real gods.
The countenance of the frst Satan was of an Ilbiguous
, and in the lines of his body too, there was the sam

ness that the ancients were wont to give to Bacchus. His beauti
ful languid yes, shadowy and vague in color, resembled violets
that are still heavy with the tears of storm, while his half open
lips were like warm censers exhaling the agreeable odor of
p
erfumeries, and whenever he sighed, musky insects fitting
about were illuminated in the fery glow of his breath.
Around his purple tunic, like a girdle twined an iridescent
serpent that lifted its head and turned toward him with lan
guorous live-ember eyes. Ald suspended from this living g}le,
alternating with vials of sinister cordials, hung sliIing kni
y
es
and surgI
c
al in
t
rUlnents.
' Tn
lr
;
r
i,
ht
hand he held another vial whose content was
of a luminous red, and which bore these curious words upon
its label : "Drink I blood, a perfect cordial" ; in his left, a
violin which ed, no doubt, to sing his pleasures and his
[
4 ]
pains, and to spread the contagion of his madness on witches'
sabbath nights.
A few links of a broken golden chain dragged at his deli
cate ankles and, when they hampered him and forced him to
look down, vain as he was, he never failed to admire his brilliant
toe nails as highly polished as precious gems.
He looked at me with his inconsolably sad eyes, flled with
an insidious intoxication, and said in a melodious voice : "If
you wish, if you wish, I will make you the master of living
matter, as the sculptor is of clay, but an incomparably greater
master ; and you shall know the pleasure, constantly renewed,
of escaping from yourself to forget yourself in another being,
and of attracting to yourself other souls to lose themselves
.
"
In yours.
And I answered him: "Thank you, no ! I want none of your
human wares that are probably no better than my own poor
self. And although remembering makes me more or less
ashamed, I still have no desire to forget a thing; and even if
I did not recognj7e you, you old monster, your mysterious cut
l
lery, your dubious vials, and the chains shackling your feet :
are symbols that demonstrate clearly enough the disadvantages
of friendship with you. You may keep your gifts.
"
,
The second Satan had nothing of that tragic and, at the
same time, smiling air, nor those insinuating manners, nor that
exquisite perfumed beauty. He was man of vast proportions,
with an eyeless countenance. His heavy paunch hung down over
his thighs, and his skin was gilded ar-iIustrated, as though
tatooed all over, with masses of little hurrying fgures, repre
senting numerous forms of universal misery. There were lean
little men who had hung themselves from nails, there were
deformed skinny little gnomes whose supplicating eyes begged
more eloquently for alms than their trembling hands: and there
were old mothers with premature infants clinging to their wasted
breasts, and there were plenty of others too.
The gigantic Satan tapped his immense belly with his fst,
and there came from it a prolonged metallic ngling that
[4
1
]
ended in a vague groaning, as oI many human voices. And he
Iaughed, indecentIy dispIayinghisdecayedteeth, a greatimbe-
ciIicIaugh Iikethat oI certain men in every country aIterthey
havedinedtoo weII.
Andthisonesaidtome . "I cangiveyouthethingthatwiII
procure you everything eIse,thatisworth everythngeIse, that
takes the pIace oI everything eIse| "And he tapped his mon
strous beIIy whose sonorous echo was a ht commentary on
his vuIgar o0er.
1 turned away indisgustas 1 repIied. "I do notneed other
peopIes' misery Ior my enj oyment
,
and 1 want none oI your
weaIth, ghastIy with aII the misIortunes that your skin, Iike a
waII paper, dispIays."
As Ior the Sataness, 1 shouId be Iying iI I IaiIed to admit
thatat hrst gIanceshe seemedto me to have a singuIar charm.
And 1 can hnd no better way oI dehning this charm than by
comparing it to that oI ceyomen _ast thir yrim but
who wiIInevergrow oId, andwhosebeautyseemsto hoId some
of tI:e ppant m

ai

oI oId ruins. She had an imperious

and yet unbridIed air, and her eyes, aIthough marked by the
years, stiII heId aIItheir power oI Iascination. Whatstruckme
particuIarIy wasthemterious quaIit oI her voice rqInd)n

me oI aII the IoveIiest contralti 1 had ever heard, and aIso oI

th!skinessoIthatsu=i1=i,vitae.
"WouId you Iike a prooI oI my power:" said the IaIse
goddess in her paradoxicaIIy seductive voice. "Listen."
Andshesoundedanenormoustrumpet
,
havingIongstream-
ers Iike one oI those rustic pipes, that bore the names oI aII
the newspapers oIthe wor!d, and onthistret she criedmy
name, which went roIIing throaith the noise oI a
!!tisand thunderboIts. And its echo came back to me, rever-
beratedIromtheIarthestpIanet.

'he Dev:J!" I said, haII won over. "Now that is some-

thing. s: i, u sdtive Iu,cIosi,, I
seeto remember having sen her beIore somewhere drink-
ing with some oI my acquaintances, and the hoarv sound oI
[ 4 ]
the brass brought back to my ears a vague recoIIection oI
another prostituted trumpet l had heard.
Sowith aIImy scorn l repIied. "Awaywithyoul l am not
one to marry the mistress oI a certain person l do not care
toname."
UI such courageous seII-deniaI l sureIy had the right to
beproud.8utunhappiIywhen lawokeaIImyIortitudeIorsook
me. "ln truth," l said to myseII, "l must have been sound
asIeep indeedtohavedispIayedsuch scrupIes.Ahl iI onIythe
d come again wIlIe I am

awakewouJd certainIy mt be

....

.
h

.
. ` `
samis .
And1

eaIIed on them aIoud, begging them to Iorgive me,

promising to degrade myseII as oIten as shouId be necessary
to win their Iavor. 8ut l must sureIy have mortaIIy o6ended
them,Iorthey havenever returned.
[
4 ]
XXII
E VENIN G TWILIGHT
DAYLIGHT fades. A great peace descends into poor minds that
the day's work has wearied; and thoughts take on the tender
and shadowy tints of twilight.
Yet, through the transparent clouds of evening, a great
clamor from the top of the mountain reaches me on my bal
cony, a
\
confusion of discordant cries transformed by distance
into a desolate harmony, like that of the rising tide or impend
ing storm.
Who are these hapless ones to whom evening brings no
solace, to whom, like the owls
,
the approach of night is the
signal for a witches'-sabbath? This sinister ululation comes to
me from the black mad-house perched on the mountain; as I
smoke my evening pipe, contemplating the peace of the immense
valley bristling with houses, whose windows say: "Here is
peace; here is a happy family!
"
I can, when the wind blows
from up there, cradle my wondering fancy on this imitation of
the harmonies of hell.
Twilight excites madmen. I remember two of my friends
who always became ill at dusk. One of them would lose all
sense of the obligations of friendship and of ordinary courtesy,
and would fy at the frst comer like a savage. I have seen him
throw an excellent chicken at a head-waiter because he imagined
he saw in it some hieroglyphic insult. For him evening, that
herald of all voluptuous pleasures, spoiled all things, even
the most succulent.
The other
,
a prey to disappointed ambition, as daylight
waned, began to grow bitter, gloomy and quarrelsome. Still
indulgent and sociable by day, he was pitiless at night; and
' V ]
would vent furiously, not only on others but on himself as well,
all his crepuscular spleen.
The former died insane, unable to recognize his wife and
child; the latter is still tortured by a perpetual disquietude and
even if all the honors that republics and princes can confer
were now heaped upon his head, I believe that twilight would
still quicken in him a feverish craving for imaginary distinc
tions. Night, which flled their minds with its own darkness,

brings light to mine; and although it is not rare to observe the

same cause bringing about contrary results, it never fails to

,erplex and to alarm me.
o night ! 0 refreshing darkness ! to me you are the signal
for an inner feast, my deliverer from anguish! In the solitude
of the lain, in the ston lab rinth
.
il
atlOn of stars, bright nursts of city lights, you are the fre-
orks of my goddess Liberty!
-
Twilight, how sweet you are, how tender ! The rosy glow
lingering on the horizon like the last agony of day conquered
by victorious night ; the fames of the candelabra making dull
red splashes against the sunset's dying glory; the heavy
draperies that some unseen hand draws out of the depth of
the East -it all seems to imitate those complex sentiments that
at life's most solemn moments war wi
t
h each other in man's
heart.
Or it may remind one of those curious costumes dancers
wear, that reveal under dark transparent gauze the muted
splendors of a dazzling skirt, j ust as the delicious pas shine!
through the somber present; and the gold and silver stars
-
sprinkled over it, represent the fres of fancy that shine brightly
only in the deep mourning of the night.
| ]
XXIII
SOLITUDE
A PHILTHROPIC j ournaIist says that soIitude is badIorman-
kind, andhesupportshisproposition,IikeaIIunbeIievers,with
citations Irom the Church Fathers.
I know that the wiIderness is a Iavorite haunt oI the DeviI
and that the Spirit oI Iubricity iskindIed in IoneIy pIaces. 8ut
it is possibIe that this soIitude is dangerous onIy Ior those
idIe and vagrant souIs who peopIe it with their own passions
and chimeras.
CertainIy a garruIous man, whose chieI pIeasure in IiIe is
todecIaimIrompuIpitorrostrum,wouIdruntheriskoIbecom-
ing a raving maniac on Kobinson Crusoe's isIand. I do not
insist on my j ournaIist havingaIIthe virtues and the courage
oI Crusoe. 8ut l do object to his dircting his imputation
against the Iovers oI soIitude and mystery.
Chattering humanity is IuII oI individuaIs who wouId Iace
the death penaIty with Iess horror iI
,
Irom the top oI the
sca0oId, they were permitted to make a mighty harangue with
noIearoIanuntimeIyinterruptionIromthe drumsoISanterre.
I donotpitythem,sinceI IeeIthattheiroratoricaIe0usions
procure them pIeasures quite equaI to those which others
derive Irom siIence and seII-communion, but I despise them.
AII I ask oI my cursed j ournaIist istobe aIIowedto amuse
myseII in my own way. "And so," he says with his most evan-
geIicaI andnasaI inection, "youneverIeeIthe need oIsharing
your pIeasures"Ah, the subtIe envyl He knows that I scorn
his pIeasures and he tries to insinuate himseII into mine, the
odiouskiII-joyl
''That great misIortune oI not being abIe to be aIonel . . .
[
4 ]
says La 8ruyre somewhere, as though to shame those who
have to go into crowds to !orgetthemseIves, doubtIess !earing
thatthey couId not endurethemseIves aIone.
"AImost aII our iIIs come !rom not staying in our own
room,"says anotherwise man, I beIieve it was !ascaI, recaIIing
!rom his ceII o! seI!-communion aII those madmen who seek
happiness in activity and in what I might caII, to usethewon-
der!uI Ianguage o!theday,the brotherhood o! prostitution.
|7 !
XXIV
PROJE CTS
Hr SAID to himseII as he waIked through a greatIoneIy park.
"How beautiIuI she wouId be in one oI tI:ose gorgeous and
eIaborate court costumes, as, in the soIt evening air, she
descendedthe marbIe stairs oI a paIace Iacing broad Iawns and
Iakesl Forby nature she has the air oI a_; ;_cs;,
!ater, passing through a IittIereet he stopped in Iront
oI a print shop, and Iooking through a portIoIio and hnding
a picture oI a tjpi scene
,
he thought . "No l it is not in
a paIace that ! shouIdIiketo cherish her dearIiIe. We shouId
neve: IeeIat home in one. 8esidesthere wouId be no pIace on
those goId encrusted waIIs to hang her portrait , and in those
IormaI haIIs there is never an intimate corner. DecidedIy'!'er
I have IoundthepIace in whichtoIive and cuItivate the dream
oI my IiIe."
'
And whiIe his eyes continued to examine every detaiI oI
theprint, hewenton musing. "A IoveIy woodencabinby the
sea and aII around those curious gIossy trees whose names I
have Iorgotten. . . in the air an indehnabIe, an intoxicating
Iragrance. . . in the cabin the heavy scent oI musk and roses
. . . and Iarther, behind our IittIe domain, the tops oI masts
rocking on the waves. . . aII around us, beyond our bedroom
withitsshutterssoIteningthegIaretoarosygIow,anddecorated
withcooImatsandheadyowers and!ortuguese rococo chairs
oI heavy somber wood (where she wiII sit so caImIy and weII
Ianned, smoking her sIightIy opiumed tobacco) , and beyond
the veranda, the twittering oI birds drunk with the sun and
the chattering oI IittIe negro girIs. . . whiIe at night
,
as an
accompanimentto mydreams,thepIaintive song oIthemusic-
[ 48
]
trees, the meIanchoIy ]/a ! Yes, truIy this is the setting 1
havebeenIookingIor.Whatdo1 want oIapaIace:"
AndaIittIeIarther on, ashewaswaIkingaIonga wide ave
nue, he noticed a CQZ IittIe in, and in the window, gay with
curtains oI striped caIico, two Iaughing Iaces. And instantIy.
"KeaIIy," he cried, "what a vagabond my mind must be to go
Iqokirrgso Iar aheId Ior pIeasure that is so near at hand.
!Ieasure and happiness are to be Iound in the hrst inn you
come to
,
any chance inn teeming with deIights. A great wood
hre, gaudy crockery, a passabIe supper, a vigorous wine, and
a very wide bed with sheets
,
a IittIe coarse, but cooI , what
couId be better:"
And going home at that hour oI the day when Wisdom's
counseIs are not siIenced by the roat oI the outside worId, he
saidto himseII . "I have possessed three homes today, and was
equaIIy happy in aII oI them. Why shouId 1 drive my body
IrompIaceto pIace, whenmy souItraveIsso IightIy: Andy
carr out one`s_rojects since the pro]ect is suHcient _Ieasure
in itseII:"
&
[ 49
]
xxv
THE BEAUTIFUL DOROTHEA
THE SUN overwheIms the city with its perpendicuIar and IuI-
minating rays , the sand is bIinding and the sea gIitters. The
stupihed worId weakIy succumbs and takes its siesta, a siesta
that is a sort oI deIicious death in which the sIeeper, between
sIeeping and waking, tastes aII the voIuptuous deIight oI anni
hiIation.
MeanwhiIe Dorothea, strong and proud as the sun, waIks
aIong the deserted street, the onIy Iiving thing at this hour
underthebIue, a shiningbIack spot in the sunIight.
She waIks, swaying gentIy Irom such a sIender waist set
on such generous hips l Her paIe pink dress oI cIinging siIk
makes a IoveIy contrast with the darkness oI her skin, and
moIds accurateIy her !ong bust, the curve oI her back and her
pointed breasts.
A redparasoI, shading her Irom the sun, rouges her dusky
Iacewith its bIood-red gIow.
The weight oIthe enormous piIe oIhair thatis aImost bIue,
puIIsbackher deIicate head and gives her anindoIentIytrium-
phant air. And the heavy ear-rings keep chattering secrets in
her pretty ears.
From time to time the sea breeze IiIts a corner oI her
owing skirt, reveaIing a zuperb and gIistening Ieg, and her
Ioot, Iike the Ieet oI the marbIe goddesses that Europe keeps
careIuIIyshut up in museums, imprints its image IaithIuIIy on
the hne sand. For Dorothea is such a prodigious coquette that
thepIeasure oIbeing admired prevaiIs with her over the pride
oI no Ionger being a sIave
,
and aIthoughIreed, she stiII goes
bareIoot.
| 60!
Thus she harmoniously takes her way, happy to be alive,
and smiling her white smile as though she saw in the distance
ahead of her a mirror refecting her beauty and proud carriage.
At an hour when even the dogs groan with pain under the
gnawing teeth of the sun, what invincible motive brings lazy
Dorothea abroad, as beautiful and cool as bronze?
Why has she left her little cabin so coquettishly arranged,
whose mats and fowers make such a perfect boudoir at so
small a cost; where she loves to sit and comb her hair, to
smoke and to be fanned by those great feather fans, or to gaze
into her mirror, while the sea, pounding the shore not a hun
dred feet away, serves as a powerful and rhythmic accompani
ment to her vague day-dreams, and exciting, aromatic odors
come to her from the back of the court-yard where a ragout of
safroned rice and crabs is cooking in an iron pot?
Perhaps she has a rendezvous with some young ofcer who,
on distant shores, has heard his comrades talking of the
famous Dorothea. She would ask him, of course, to describe
the Opera Ball, and also, the simple creature, if one could
go to it barefoot as to Sunday dances here, when even the old
Kafr women get drunk and delirious with pleasure; and if all
the beautiful Paris ladies are more beautiful than she?
Dorothea is admired and pampered, and she would be
perfectly happy if only she were not obliged to save up, pistre
by pistre
,
enough to free her little sister who is all of eleven
years old, and mature already, and so beautiful ! She will doubt
less succeed, the kindly Dorothea : but the child's master is toe
miserly to understand any beauty other than the beauty of
his ecus.
[ 51 ]
XXV!
THE E YES OF THE POOR
AH! So YOU wouIdIiketoknow why ! hate you today: !t wiII
certainIy be harder Ior you to understand than Ior me to
expIain, Ior you are, l beIieve, the most perIect exampIe oI
Ieminine impermeabiIity that exists.
We had spenta Iong day together which to me had seemed
short. We had duIy promised each other that aII our thoughts
shouIdbesharedin common, andthat ourtwo souIs henceIorth
be but one-a dream which, aIter aII, has nothing originaI
aboutitexcept that, aIthoughdreamedbyeveryman on earth,
it has been reaIized by none.
Thatevening,a IittIe tired, youwantedto sit down in Iront
oI a new caI Iorming the corner oI a new bouIevard stiII
Iittered with rubbish but th|ready
.
Iayed proudIy its
unhnished spIendo . he caI was

dazrIin Even the gas

burned with aII the ighted with aII its
might the bIinding whiteness oIthe waIIs, the expanse oI mir
rors,thegoIdcornicesandmoIdings,Iat-cheeke_ages drag,d
aongbyhounds onIeash,IaughingIad1es wIaIconsontheir
wrists
,
nymphs and godeszes bearing on their heads piIes oI
Iruits, pates and ga, Hebes and Canymedes hoIding out
IittIe amphoras oI syrups or parti-coIored ices , _ I histo
@
and
aII hI

gy pandexj_q Iuttony.

n in IoIus,a worthy man oI about

Iorty, withtired Iace and greying beard, wtanding hoIding
a smaIIboybythehand andcarrying onhisarm anotherIittIe
thing, stiIItoo weaktowaIk.HewaspIayingnursemaid,taking
thechiIdrenIoraneveningstroII. They were in . Thethree
faces were extraordinariIy serious, and those six eyes stared
[ 5
2
]
hxedIy at the new caI with admiration, equaI in degree but
di6ering in kind according to their ages.
TheeyesoItheIathersaid: "HowbeautiIuIitis l Howbeau
tiIuIit isl AII the goId oI the poor worId must have Iound its
way onto those waIIs." The eyes oI the IittIe boy. "How beau
tiIuI it is ! How beautiIuI it is l 8ut it is a house where onIy
peopIe who are not Iike us can go." As Ior the baby he was
much too Iascinated to express anything but j oy-utterIy
stupid andproIound.
SongwriterssaythatpIeasureennobIesthesouIandsoItens
the heart. The song was right that evening as Iar as ! was
concerned. Not onIy was ! touched by this IamiIy oI eyes, but
! was even a IittIe ashamed oI our g!asses and decanters, too
big Ior our thirst. ! turned my eyes to Iook into yours, dear
Iove, to read my thought in them, and as I pIunged my eyes
into your eyes, so beautiIuI and so curiousIy soIt, into those
green eyes, home oI Caprice and governed by the Moon, you
said. "Those peopIe are insu6erabIe with their great saucer
eyes. Can't you teII the proprietor to send them away:"
So you see how diHcuIt it is to understand one another,
my dear angeI, how incommunicabIe thought is
,
even between
two peopIe in Iove.
']
XXVll
A HEROIC DEATH
Fancic0ttr was an admirabIe bu6oon and aImost Iike one oI
the !rince's Iriends. 8ut Ior men whose proIession it is to be
Iunny, serious things have a IataI attraction, and one day,
aIthough it may seem strange that ideas oI patriotism and
Iiberty shouId take despotic possession oI a mummer's brain,
FanciouIIejoined a conspiracy Iormed by certain discontented
nobIes oIthecourt.
` : -----
~~ ~ +~... ---
+.
here cxist everywhere worthy men aIways ready to de
nounce their more atrabiIiar brothers who Iong to dethrone
princes and, without bothering to consuIt it, to reconstitute
society. The nobIes in question were arrested as weII as Fan
ciouIIe, and aII oIthemIaced certain death.
l couId readiIy beIieve that the !rincewas quite put out to
hnd his Iavorite pIayer among the rebeIs. The !rince was
neither better norworsethan other men, buthaving an exces
sivesensibiIityhewasingeneraIIarmorecrueIthanhisIeIIows.
A passionate Iover oIthe hne arts, asweII as an exceIIent con
noisseur,hewasanaItogetherinsatiabIevoIuptuary. lndi6erent
enough in regard to men and moraIs himseII a reaI artist, he
dreaded oneenemy onIy, 8oredom, andthe extravagante6orts
he made to vanquish or to outwit this tyr
oIthe worId,
wouIdmost certainIy have won him the epithet of "nonster"
Iro a evere historian, iI in the !rince`s dominions any one
had been permitted to write anything whatever whichdid not
make

excIusiveIy Ior pIeasure or Ior astonishment, one oI

pIasure's most deIicate Iorms. The misIortune oI the !rince
wasmnothaving astagevastenoughIorhis genius.Thereare
young Neros, stied in too narrow bounds, whose names and
[ 54 ]
good intentions wiII Iorever remain unknown to Iuture genera-
tions. A heedIess !rovidence had given this !rince IacuIties
greater than his domains.
SuddenIy a rumor spread that the sovereign had decided
to pardon aII the conspirators , and the origin oI this rumor
was an announcement that a magnihcent pantomime was to
begiveninwhichFanciouIIewouIdpIayoneoIhismostIamous,
one oI his most sucessIuI roIes, and at which even the con-
demned nobIes, it was said, were to be present , an evident
prooI
,
added superhciaI minds, oI the generous procIivities oI
the o6ended !rince.
UnthepartoIamansonaturaIIyanddeIiberateIyeccentric,
anything was possibIe, even virtue, even cIemency, especiaIIy
iI in it he couId hope to hnd some unexpected pIeasures. 8ut
Ior those who,Iike myseII,had probed deeper into that curious
sicksouI, itwasinhniteIymoreprobabIethatthe!rincewanted
to test the vaIue oI the histrionic taIent oI a man condemned
fo re.-Ue wantedto proht bythis occasion to make a physio-
IogicaI experiment of a capital interest, to hnd out to what
extent an artist`s IacuIties might be changed or modihed in a
situation as extraordinaryasthis , beyondthat, wasthere in his
mind, perhaps, amore orIess dehnite idea oImercy: This is a
point that has never been cIarihed.
At Iast, the great day having arrived this IittIe court dis-
pIayedaIIitspomps, anditwouIdbedimcuIttoconceive,unIess
one had seen it, what incredibIe spIendor the priviIeged cIass
oI a tiny state with Iimited resources, was abIe to muster Ior
a notabIe occasion. This one was doubIy so by the wonder oI
theIuxurydispIayed asweIIasbythemysteriousmoraIinterest
attaching to it.
Sieur FancioulIe exceIIed especiaIIy in siIent parts or ones
with Iew words, which are often the principIe roIes in those
Iairy pantomimes whose object is to represent symIoIicaIIy
the mystery oIIiIe. He came out IightIy onto the stage, with a
perIect ease that conhrmed the nobIe audience in its notion
oIcIemency and pardon.
' ]

'
! '
When peopIe say oI an actor . What a good actor, they
are using an expression which impIies that beneaththe charac
tertheycan stiII distinguishthe actor,that is tosayart,e6or|,
voIition. 8utiIan actor shouId succeed in being, in reIation to
theparthepIayed, whatthebeststatues oIantiquity, iImiracu-
IousIyanimatedtheyIived,waIkedandsaw,wouIdbeinreIation
tothe generaI, the conIused idea oI beauty, that wouId indeed
be a singuIar case and aItogether unheard oI. anciouIIe was
that night just such a perIect ideaIization, so that one couId
not heIp beIieving in the impersonation as aIive, possibIe and
real. The bu6oon came and went
,
Iaughed and wept, and
Iashed into Iury, with aIways abou headan iiuperishabIe
aureoIe, invisibIe to aII, but visibIe to me, that bIended in a
strange amaIgamthebeams oIArtandthegIoryoIMartyrdo.
IanciouIIe, by what speciaI grace I cannot say, introduced
something oIdivineandsupernaturaIintohismostextravagant
bu6ooneries. My pen txembIes and tears oI an emotion that
has never IeIt me, hII my eyes, whiIe I Iook Ior words to
deseribe Ior you that unIorgettabIe evening. anciouIIe proved
|o me in the most peremptory, the most irreIutabIe way
,
that
the intoxication oI Art iz mona than al g t ,e de
ters oI the eternaI abyss , and that genius can pIay a part,
e e8ge oIthe grave, with such joy that it does not
see the grave, Iost, as it is, in a paradise that shuts out aII
thought oI death and destruction.
The whoIe audience, bIas and IrivoIousthough they were,
sqn(nderthe uI-pow]uI oI the artist. No thought
remained oI death, oImourning, or oIpunishment. Every one
gavehimseII up without a quaIm to the voIuptuous and muIti-
tudinous pIeasures the sight oI a masterpiece oI Iiving art
a6ords. ExpIosions oI deIight and admiration again and again
reverberated to the vauIts oI the edihce with the noise oI a
continuous thunder. The !rince himseII, in a Irenzy oI intoxi
cation, j oined in the appIause oI his court.
However, Ior a discerning eye, this intoxication was not
withoutaIIoy.DidheIeeI himseIIcheatedinhisdespoticpower,
[ 56
]
humiIiatedinhis art oIstrikingterror into hear|s andchiII into
souIs, Irustrated in his hopes, outed in his Iorecasts: Such
suppositions, not aItogether justihed yet not unj ustihabIe, ran
through my mind whiIe ! watched the !rince's Iace, as over
his habituaI paIor, a new paIoi spread Iike snow IaIIing upon
snow. His Iips were more and more tightIy compressed and
his eyes bIazed with an inner hre resembIing that oI j eaIousy
or spite, even whiIe he ostensibIy appIauded his Iortne Iriend,
thestrangebu6oonwhonowpIayeddeath'sbu6oonsosuperbIy.
At a certain moment ! saw his Highness turn toward a IittIe
page standing behind him, and whisper in his ear. A roguish
smiIe ashed across the chiId`s charming Iace, and he IeIt the
royaI box as iI to carry out some urgent commission.
A Iewminutes Iater a shriII proIonged hiss broke in upon
FanciouIIe in one oI his greatest moments, rending aII ears
and hearts. And Irom that part oI the haII whence this unex-
pectedrebu6hadcome, a chiIddarted out into a corridor with
stied Iaughter.
FanciouIIe, awakened Irom his dream, cIosed his eyes, and
when aImost at once he opened them again, they seemed to
have grown inordinateIy Iarge
,
then he opened his mouth as
though struggIingor breath, staggered Iorward a step, then
backward, andl dead(ponthestage.
Had the hiss, swiII as a sword, reaIIy Irustrated the hang
man: Hadthe !rince Ioreseen the homicidaI eventuaIity oI his
ruse: :|.,-aaIo doubt.Uid he regret his cherished,
hIsinImnabIe FanciouIIe It issweetandlegitimateto hope so.
The guiIt nobIes had enjoyed the deIights oI the theatre
Ior the1ie. The same night they were e6aced Irom IiIe.
Since then severaI othemies, justIy ppreciated in many
countries, have come to the court oI but none has ever
been abIe to approach the miracuIous taIent oI FanciouIIe, nor
to risetothesame favor.
[5
7 ]
XXVlll
COUN TERFEIT
As WE WERE Ieavingthetobacconist's ! sawmy Iriend careIuIIy
separating his money, in the IeIt pocket oI his waistcoat he
sIipped aII the goId pieces, in theright, the siIver, in his IeIt
trouser pocket he put a handIuI oI pennies
,
and hnaIIy in the
right, aIter the most careIuI scrutiny, a twc-Iranc piece.
"What a singuIar` e distribution," ! said to myseII.
Soon we passed beggarwho heId out his cap to us with
a trembIing hand. or e man oI IeeIing who is abIe to read
them, !knownothingmored:sEessmgt5an t!e mute eIo uence
o a paupers pea mg eyes, so u umiIity and reproach.
There isinthemsomethingoIthe proIoundandcompIexemo
tion to beseen inthetearhIIed eyes oI a_o_bein_ten.
MyIriend'so6eringwasconsiderabIyIargerthanmine, and
l saidto him. "Youare right, next to IeeIing surprise oneseII,
there is no greater pIeasure than giving someone eIse a sur-
prise." "!t was counterIeit," he repIied tranquiIIy as though
to]ustiIy his p:a!Ity.
8ut i my miserabIe brain, which is Iorever ying o6 at
a tangent (what an exhausting IacuItynature has given mel ) ,
theideasuddenIyoccurredtomethatsuchconductinmyIriend
was onIy excusabIe iI it came Ir ge uI bringing some
excitement into the poor deviI`s IiI
,
perhaps even of!eerning
aU 'ti dm ermt oees, dstrous or otherwise, that a
counterIeit coin in the hands oI a beggar, might engender.
MightitnotmuIti_I_ into man_ieces oIgoodmonq" Mq
it not aIso Iead to prison: A baker, a tavern keeper, Ior in
stance,migt havehimarrested asacounterIeiter or a dissemi
nator oI bad money. 8ut on the other hand, the counterIeit
[ 5
8
]
coin Ior a poor IittIe specuIator, might weII be the germ oI
severaI days' weaIth. And so my Iancy ran riot, Iending wings
tomyIriend's imagination anddrawing aII possibIe deductions
Irom aII possibIe hypotheses.
8ut he rudeIy shattered my reverie by repeating my own
words . "Yes, you are right
,
there is no sweeter pIeasure than
tosurprise aman bygivinghim morethan heexpects."
I IookedhimsquareIy in the eye, and I was appaIIedto see
that his eyes shone with unquestionabIe candor. I understood
perIectIythenthathis objecthadbeen to perIorm a charitabIe
d whiIe making a good specuIation, to gain Iorty sols and
Cod'sheartatthesameume,andtowinparadise economicaIIy,
ihort, to cry o6 gratIs a

le Ieofc1arty. ItTuId
ahave Igive

hm

hls dire Ior th epehensibIe

enj oyment I had just been supposing him capabIe oI, I shouId
have Iound something _ ious, arresting in his desire to com
promise paupers, but I wiII never pardon him the ineptitude
oIhis caIcuIation. To be mean isnever excusabIe, but there is
some virtue in knowing that one iz , the nIorgivabJeice is
tods:upIdIty.

[ 59 !
/
XXlX
THE GE N EROUS GAMB L ER
YESTERAY on the crowded bouIevard, ! IeIt myseII j ostIed by
a mysterious 8eing whom ! have aIways Iongedto know, and
aIthughlhadneverseenhimbeIore,lrecognizedhim atonce.
He musthave IeIt a simiIar desire in egard to me, Ior ashe
passedhe gaveme aknowingyinkwhichl was quickto obey.
l IoIIowed him cIoseIy and soon, stiII at his heeIs descended
into a magnihcentsubterranean dweIIing oI a IabuIous Iuxury
beyond anything the upper habitations oI !aris couId boast.
Anditseemedtomeoddthat!shouIdhavepassedthisenchant
inghauntsooItenwithoutsuspectingthatherewastheentrance.
The exquisite,thoughheady,atmosphereoIthepIacemade one
instantaneousIyIorgetaII the tedious horrors oI IiIe, here one
breathed a somber beatitude simiIar to that which the Iotus-
eatersmusthaveIeItwhen,IandingontheenchantedisIebathed
in the Iight oI an eternaI aIternoon, and hearing the soothing
sound oI meIodious cascades, they suddenIy Ionged never to
see their penates again, their wives and chiIdren, never again
to venture Iorth over the towering waves oI the sea.
HerewerestrangeIacesoImenandwomenwhoweremarked
withthesign oIgtaIbeauty, andl seemedto remember having
seen them beIore, but at what period or in what countries it
was impossibIeto recaII , they inspired in me a IraternaI sym
pathy ratherthan that apprehension commonIy aroused by the
sight oIanything aIien. lI l were to attemptto give some idea
3 oI the singuIar expression oI their eyes l shouId say that l
have never seen eyes that shone so 6erceIy with the horror o!
boredomand with the immortaIIongingto!eeIthemseIvesIive.
8ythetimemyhostandlwereseated,wewereaIreadyhrm
[ 6
0
]
!riends. We ate, we drank immoderateIy o!aII sorts o!extraor
dinary wines, and noIess extraordinary was the !act that even
a!ter severaI hours it seemed to me that ! was no more drunk
thanhe.8utgaming,thatsuperhumanpIeasure,hadinterrupted,
at divers intervaIs, our !requent Iibations, and l shouId aIso
say that, with per!ect

nce and heroic heedIessness, !

had binding pact. The souI is a
thin_ so impaIpabIeq!te so useIess, and some imes so in the
wthat!!eIt somewhatIess emotion over it oss t an i had
droppedmyvisitin_ eard outwaI!ing.
SIowIy we smoked :everaI cigars whose incomparabIe taste
and aroma madethe souI homesick !or countries and pIeasures
it had never known, and drunk with aII these deIights, in an
access o! !amiIiarity that did not seem to dispIease him, ! had
the temerity to excIaim as l Ii!ted my brimming gIas: . "To
your immortaI heaIth, UId Harryl "
We taIked o! the universe, o! its creation and o! its hnaI
destrcton, o! the 5vg vdea oI t5e century, Wat is, t!e ea
o

progress and per!ectabiIity, and in generaI oI a! Iorms oI

!uman in!atuation. n this subject His ig!ness was never at
a Ioss !or gay and irre!utabIe ironies
,
and he expressed himseI!
with a subtIeaddress and impassibIe humor such as ! have not
met with even in the most !amous taIkers o! humanity. He
expIained the absurdity o! the di0erent phiIosophies which
haveuptothepresenttime had possession o!the humanbrain,
and heeven deigned to divuIge certain !undamentaI principIes
whose possession and benets I do not nd it expedient to
share with a singIe sou! He didnotcompIain o!thebadrepu
tation he enjoys in every corner o!the worId, and assured me
that no one was more interested inthe suppression o! supersti
tion than himseI!, and admittedthatthe onIy time he hadever
trembIed !or his power was the day when a preacher had
excIaimed!rom his puIpit . "My beIovedbrothers, never !orget
when you hear peopIe boast o! our progress in enIightenment,
that one o! the deviI`s best ruses is to persuade you that he
doesnotexistl "
[ 61
]

, - r>t)')
The recoIIection o! this noted orator Iead us naturaIIy to
the subject o! institutions o! Iearning, and my strange tabIe-
companion toId me that in many cases he did not think it
beneath him to inspire the pen, the speech, and the conscience
o! pedagog, and that he aImost invariabIy attended in per-
son, aIthoughinvisibIe
,
aII academicassembIies.
Encouraged by so much kindness, I asked him !or news o!
Cod, and whether he had seen him recentIy. He repIied with
an indi0erence tinged with sadness . "We bow to each other
when we meet Iike two weII-bred oId gentIemen, whose innate
courtesy is, nevertheIess, not suHcient to wipe out the memory
o! oId grudges."
I doubt i! His Highness has ever be!ore accorded such a
Iong interview to a simpIe mortaI, and I !eared l must be
presuming. At Iast, as shivering dawn whitened the window
panes, this !amous character, sung by so many poets and
served by so manyphiIosoghers who work !or his gIory with-
out knowing it, said to me . "As l want you to take away an
agreeabIe remembrance o! me, I -I, Satan him-eI!-am
goingtoproveto you, in spiteo!aIItheiIIthat is said o! me,
that l can sometimesbea good devil, to use one o!your popu
Iar expressions. To compensate you !or the irremediabIe Ioss
o! your souI, l shaII give you the same stake you wouId have
won i! chance had been with you, that is the possibiIity o!
aIIeviating and overcoming !or your entire Ii!e that strange
disease o! 8oredom which is the source o! aII your iIIs and
aII your miserabIe progress. Never shaI! you !ormuIate a wish
that I wiII not heIp you to reaIize, you shaII dominate your
vuIgar IeIIowmen, attery shaII be yours, and even adoration,
siIver,goId, diamonds, and!airypaIacesshaIIcomeseekingyou
out, begging to be accepted without your having to Ii!t a
hngerto obtainthem, youshaIIchangenationaIityand country
as o!ten asyour!ancy dictates , you shaIIknow aII the intoxica-
tion o! pIeasure, without satiety, in IoveIy Iands where it is
aIwayswarmandwherethewomensmeIIassweetastheowers
[
62 J
-et cetera, et cetera. . . ," he added as he rose and dismissed
mewithakindIysmiIe.
lI l had not been aIraid oI embarrassing him beIore that
vastassembIy, l wouId wiIIingIy have IaIIen on my kneesatthe
IeetoIthis generous gambIer, to thank him Ior his unheard-oI
munihcence. 8ut aIter l had IeIt him, IittIe by IittIe, doubt
creptbackintomy breast , l noIonger daredtobeIieve in such
prodigious good Iortune
,
and when l went to bed that night,
idioticaIIy saying my prayers out oI habit and haII asIeep,
l murmured: "Uh, Codl !ord, my Codl Make the deviI keep
hispromisel "
[ 63 ]
xxx
THE ROPE
To EDOUARD MANET
"ILLUSIONS," said my Iriend, "are as innumerabIe, perhaps, as
thereIations oImento each other and oImen andthings. And
when the iIIusion disappears, when, that is, we see persons
orthings as theyreaIIy are, detached Irom ourseIves, we have
astrange,compIexIeIing,haIIregretIorthevanishedphantom,
haI! agreeabIe surprise attheappearance oIthis noveI, oIthis
reaI thing. lI there is one obvious, ordinary, neverchanging
phenomenon oIa nature to make misapprehension impossibIe,
it is sure!y mother-Iove. It is as dicuIt to imagine a mother
withoutmother-Iove ?Iight without heat, is it not then per-
IectIy Iegitimate to attribute aII a mother's acts and words, in
regard to her chiId, to mother-Iove: And yet, Iet me teII you
this IittIe story in which you wiII see how I was singu!arIy
deceived by this most natura! iIIusion.
"8y myproIession as a painter l am impeIIed to scrutinize
attentiveIy every Iace, every physiognomythat comes my way,
and you know what deIight we painters take in that !acuIty
which gives more zest and signihcance to IiIe Ior us than !or
other men. ln the out o! the way neighborhood where I Iive,
and where great grassy spacesstIII separatethehouses, l used
to watch a certain IittIe boy whose eager, mischievous Iace
appeaIedto me morethan any oItheothers.He posed !or me
severaI times, and l wouId disguise him, sometimes as a IittIe
gypsy
,
sometimes as an ange!, sometimes as the mythoIogicaI
Cupid. I painted him with the vagrant musician's vioIin, wIth
the Crown o!Thons and the NaIIs oIthe Cross, and with the
[
6 ]
torch of Eros. Finally 1 came to take such delight in the young
ster's drollery that one day 1 asked his parents, who were very
poor, to let me keep him, promising to dress him well, to give
him a little money, and not to impose on him any tasks more
onerous than cleaning my brushes and running my errands.
After he had been well scrubbed, the boy was really charming,
and the life he lead with me seemed to him paradise compared
to that in his parent's wretched hole. Only 1 must say the
little fellow often astonished me by strange fts of precocious
melancholy, as well as by an immoderate craving, soon mani
festing itself, for sugar and spirits; it had come to such a
pass that one day when l had noticed that, in spite of my
many warnings
,
he had been pilfering again, l threatened to
send him back to his parents. l then went out and my afairs
kept me away for a considerable time.
"What was my horror and stupefaction when, opening my
door, the frst object that met my eyes was my little man, the
mischievous little companion of my life
,
hanging from that
wardrobe over there! His feet almost touched the ground; a
chair, which he had evidently kicked out of the way, was over
turned beside him; his head was convulsively twisted to one
side; his face swollen, and his eyes, wide open, stared with
a terrifying fxity that gave the illusion of life. To take him
down was not as easy a task as you might think. He was already
stif, and l felt an inexplicable revulsion to letting him drop
to the foor. l was obliged to sustain his whole weight with
one arm while, with my free hand, I cut the rope. But that was
not all; the little wretch had used such a thin rope that it had
sunk deep into the fesh, and to free his neck l had to dig for
the rope between the swellings with a pair of fne scissors.
"l neglected to tell you that 1 had, in the frst place
,
called
lustily for help; but my neighbors had refused to come to my
assistance, true in this to the prejudice of civilized man who,
l do not know why, will have no part in the afairs of the
hanged. Finally a doctor arrived who declared that the child
had been dead for several hours already. When later we had
[ 65 ]
to undress hIm Ior burIaI, the body was so rIgId that, unabIe
to bend hIs IImbs, we were Iorced tocut hIs cIomes to remove
them.
"The poIIce sergeant, towhom naturaIIy l hadtoreportthe
suIcIde, eyedmenarrowIy, sayIng. 'SomethIngsuspIcIousIook
IngaboutmIs,' prompted, no doubt,bothby personaI bas and
the proIessIonaI habIt oI tryIng to strIke terror Into Innocent
andguIItyaIIke.
"The supreme task was stIII to be accompIIshed, the very
thoughtoIwhIchcausedmeanunbearabIeanguIsh. hIsparents
had to be toId. My Ieet sImpIy reIused to take me. At Iast l
summoned up aII my courage. 8ut to my great astonIshment
the mother remaIned unmoved, not a tear trIckIed Irom her
eyes. ! attrIbuted tIsto the extreme horrorshemustIeeI, and
l recaIIed the weIIknown sayIng. 'The deepest sorrows are
sIIent.' As Ior the Iather, haII churIsh, haII pensve, aII he
Ioundtosay was . 'WIIt's aII Iorthebest, l guess. He wouId
have come to a bad anywa,''

"MeanwhIIe the body was IaId out on my soIa, and ! was

takIng care oI the 6naI detaIIs assIsted by a servant, when the
mother entered my studIo. She wanted to see the body oI her
son
,
shesaId.!couIdhardIypreventherreveIIIng Inher sorrow
or reIuse her thIs supreme and somber consoIatIon. Then she
asked me to show her the pIace where her boy had hanged
hImseII. 'Uh! No, Madam, ' ! replIed, 'that wIII be too paIn
IuIIor you.' And, as InvoIuntarIIy my eyes turned towardthe
IataI wardrobe, l saw wIth repugnance, mIxed wIth horror,
that the naII had been IeIt In the paneI wth a Iong pIece oI
rope stIII dangIIng Irom It. ! rushed over to remove these Iast
vestiges oIthe tragedy, and was aIout to ng them out oIthe
open wIndow, when the poor woman seIted my arm and In an
IrresIstIbIe voIce saId. 'Uhl MonsIeur,Ietme havethem! l beg,
l ImpIore youl ' Her despaIr l decIded must have so crated her
that she had been seIted wIth a passIonate IongIng Ior the In
strumentoIher son'sdeath,anddesIredto keep It as ahorrIbIe
andcherIshedreIIc.ShetookpossessIonoItheropeandthenaII.
[ 66 ]
"At last l At last ! It was over. There was nothing more Ior
meto dobuttogo backto work, andmoreIuriously than ever,
tryingto drive outthelittle corpsethathlledevery convolution
oI my brain, and whose ghost haunted me with his great star
ing eyes. 8ut the Iollowing day I received a pile oI letters .
some Iromtenantsinmy ownbuilding, someIromneighboring
houses , one Irom the hrst Hoor, another Irom the second,
anotherIromthe third and so Iorth and so on, some in a haII
playIul style, some jokingly trying to hide the eagerness in
their request , the others grossly brazen and misspelled, but
all with the same object in view. to persuade me to let them
haveapieceoItheIatalandbeatihcrope.Amongthesignatures,
I mustsay, there werc morewomen's than men`s , but
,
I assure
you,theydidnotallcomeIromthelowerclassesby anymeans.
Ihavekeptthoseletters.
"It was then, suddenly, that it dawned upon me why the
motherhad been so anxious to getpossession oI the rope, and
the sort oI trade she was contemplating Ior consoIation."
[ 67 ]
XX I
VOC ATIONS
IN A LOVELY garden where the autumnaI sun seemed to Iinger
with pIeasure, under a sky, aIready noticeabIy tinged with
green, in which the goIden cIouds saiIed Iike cruising conti
nents, Iour beautiIuI chiIdren, Iour boys
,
tired probabIy oI
their games, were taIking.
Une oI them said. "Yesterday I was taken to the theatre.
There are great sadpaIaces, and behind them you can see the
sky and the sea, there are men and women, very serious and
sadtoo, andmuchmore beautiIuIandbeautiIuIIy dressedthan
any you have ever seen, who speak to each other in sing-song
voices. They threaten each other,they impIore,they are in de
spair,andtheyareaIwaysputtingtheirhandsto daggersthrust
into their beIts. Uhl but it is beautiIuI l The women are much
more beautiIuI and much taIIer than any that come to our
house
,
and aIthoughthey are terriIying with their greathoIIow
eyes and their aming red cheeks, you can't heIp IaIIing in
Iove with them. You're Irightened and you want t' cry, but
somehow you are happy too. . . . Andthen, what's Iunnier stIII,
it makes you want to be dressed Iike that too, to say and do
the same things, and to speak in the same kind oI voice. . .
Une oI the Iour chiIdren, who Ior some time had not been
Iistening to his comrade's discourse, and had been IookIng
with extraordinary hxity at some distant point in the sky,
suddenIy excIaimed. "!ook, Iook up therel Do you see him?
He issittingonthatIittIecIoud aII by itseIIthat isthe coIor oI
hre andmovessosIowIy. !thinkHe isIookingat ustoo."
"ut whoareyoutaIking about:"askedtheothers.
"Codl " he repIied in a tone oI compIete conviction. "Ahl
[ 6 ]
HeisIar away aIready, soon weshan'tbeabIe to see him any
more. l suppose he is going to visit other countries. See
,
he is
aboutto disappear behind thatrow oItrees onthe horizon. . .
and now he is going down behind the church tower. . . Ahl
you can't see him any morel "And Ior a Iong whiIe the chiId
remainedstaringin thesamedirectionattheIinethatseparates
heaven andearth, hiseyes bright with an indescribabIe expres-
sion oIecstasy and regret.
"How siIIy he is with his oId Cod that nobody sees but
himl "saida third, a boy whosewhoIe IittIe being wasbursting
withanimation and an extraordinary vitaIity. "Now, ! canteII
yousomethingthathappenedtome abit moreinterestingthan
yourtheatresandyourcIouds.A Iewdays agomy parentstook
me withthemon a trip, and astheinn where we stoppedwas
crowdedandtherewerenomorebeds,theydecidedthatlshouId
sIeep in the same bed as my nurse." He drew his comrades
cIoser around him and Iowered his voice. "lt certainIy gives
you a Iunny IeeIing not to be sIeeping aIone, and to be in bed
with your nurse, and in the dark. l couIdn't sIeep so, whiIe
she was sIeeping, l amused myseII stroking her arms and her
neck and her shouIders. Her arms and neck are much bigger
than aII otherwomen's, andher skin is so soIt
,
soawIulIysoIt,
itIeeIsIikewritingpaper ortissuepaper. l enjoyed it somuch
l wouId have gone on Iorever, onIy l was aIraid, aIraid 5rst
oI aII oI waking her, and aIraid too oI l don't know what.
So then l buried my head in her hair, as thick as a horse's
mane coverig her hack, and I telI you it smeIt as good as
theowersinthisgarden smeII now. lIyouevergetthechance
tryto dothe same-you'IIseel "
WhiIe taIking, the eyes oIme young author oI this reveIa-
tion had widened with a sort oI stupeIaction at what he was
stiII IeeIing, and the Iight oI the setting sun pIaying in his
untidyredcurIsseemed to beIightingupa suIphurous aureoIe
oIpassion. lt was easy enough to Ioresee that this boy wouId
1\
notwaste his IiIe Iooking Ior Cod in thecIouds, andthat he
wou!d Irequent!y hnd him somewhere eIse.
[ 69 ]
inaIIy
,
theIourthboysaid. "Youknowthatitisn'tawIuIIy
amusing Ior me at home. ! am never taken to the theatre ~
my guardian ismuehtoostingy, Codneverpays any attention
to me and my boredom, and ! haven't any beautiIuI nurse to
euddIe. ! have oIten thought that what !'d Iike most to do
wouIdbetowaIkstraight ahead oIme without knowing where
! was going and without any one bothering about me, and
aIways seeing new eountries. ! am never eontent anywhere,
and wherever ! am, ! aIways think it wouId be better some
whereeIse.WeII, at the Iast Iair we wentto in the next viIIage,
! saw three men who Iive the way !'d IIketoIive. You IeIIows
didn't notiee them. They were taII, they were aImost bIaek, and
haughty, aIthough dressed in rags, with an air oI asking Iavors
oInobody.Their enormous bIaek eyes shoneterribIywhenthey
were pIaying their musie, sueh astonishing musie, hrst it
made you want to daneethen it made you wanttoery, orboth
at onee, and it wouId drive you mad iI you Iistened to it too
Iong. Une oIthem, ashe drewhisbow aerossthe strings oIhis
vioIin, seemed to be teIIing oI some sorrow, the other, making
his IittIehammersj ump about on the stringsoI thetiny piano
hung Irom a strap around his neek, seemed to be making Iun
of his partners' Iamentations, whiIe the third, every now and
then, wouId bring his eymbaIs together with a vioIent erash.
They were enjoying themseIves so mueh that they went on
pIaying their wiId musie even aIter the erowd had dispersed.
inaIIy they pieked up their pennies, put their baggage on
their baeks and went away. 8ut ! wanted to hnd out where
they Iived so ! IoIIowedthem at a distanee to where the Iorest
begins
,
and then ! understood-they don't Iive any where.
" '5haII we put up the tent' one oIthem asked.
"'What's the use on a beautiIuI night Iike this l ' another
repIied.
"The third who was eounting their earnings, said: 'These
peopIe have no IeeIing Ior musie and their wives danee Iike
bears. !uekiIywe'II be in Austria in a monthwhere peopIe are
more agreeabIe.'
[
7
0]
"'We'ddobettertogotoward Spain,' said oneoIthe others,
'theseason'sprettyweIIaIong.!'maIIIor avoidingtherainsand
wettingnothing but our whistIes.'
"You see, !'ve remembered everything. AIter that each oI
them drank a cup oI brandy and went to sIeep, their Iaces
turned toward the stars. At hrst ! wanted to beg them to take
me with them, and to teach me to pIay their instruments, but
! didn't dare, probabIy because it is aIways so hard to decide
anything at aII, and aIso because ! was aIraid oI being caught
beIore ! couId get out oI France."
From the indi6erent air oI histhree companions ! decided
that this youngster was aIready one oI the un-understood. !
Iooked at him curiousIy , there was in his eye and in his Iore-
head that something so prematureIy IataI which invariabIy
aIienates sympathy, but which Ior some reason excited mine,
andto such an extent that Ior an instant!hadthestrangeidea
that! might
,
unknown to me, have a brother.
Thesunhadgone down. NightinaIIits soIemnityhadtaken
itspIace. The boyssepatated, eachsetting out, aII unconsciousIy
and as Iuck and circumstances wouId decide, to cuItivate his
!ortune, to scandaIize his neighbors, and to gravitate toward
gIory or dishonor.
[ 71 ]
XXXll
THE THYRS US
To Franz Lizt.
WHAT IS a thyrsus: ln its reIigious and poetic sense it is the
sacerdotaI embIem oI priests and priestesses when ceIebrating
the deity whose interpreters they are. 8ut physicaIIy it is j ust
astick,asimpIestick,asta0tohoIduphops,apropIortraining
vines, straight
,
hard and dry. Around this stick in capricious
convcIutions, stems andowerspIayandgamboI,some sinuous
andwayward, othershangingIikebeIIs, orIikegobIets up-side-
down. And an amazing respIendence surges Irom this com-
pIexity oIIines and oI deIicate or briIIiant coIors. Does it not
seemas thoughmecurviIinear andthespiraIIineswerecourt-
ing the straight Iine, and were dancing around it in mute
admiration Does it not seem as though aII those deIicate
coroIIas, aIIthose caIyxes, in an expIosion oIscents and coIors,
wereexecutingamysteriousIandangoaroundthehieraticrod
8ut what imprudent mortaI wouId dare to say whether the
owers andthevines have been made Ior the stick, or whether
the stick is not a pretextIor dispIaying the beauty oIthe vines
andthe owers Thethyrsus is an image oI your astonishing
quaIity, great and venerated Master, dear 8acchante oI mys-
terious and passionate 8eauty. Never did a nymph, driven to
Irenzy by the invincibIe 8acchus, shake her thyrsus over the
heads oIher maddenedcompanionswith such energy andwan-
tonness as you your genius over the hearts oI your brothers.
TherodisyourwiII,steady, straight, and5rm, andtheowers,
the wanderings oI your Iancy around your wiII, the Ieminine
eIement executing its bewitching pirouettes around the maIe.
[ 72 ]
Straight Iine and arabesque, intention and expression, inHexi
biIityoIthewiII,sinuosityoItheword,unityoIthegoaI,variety
oI the means, aII-powerIuI and indivisibIe amaIgam oI genius,
whatanaIyst wouId have the detestabIe courage to divide and
separate you
Dear !iszt, through the mists and beyond the rivers, in
distant citieswherepianossingyourgIory, andwhere printing
presses transIate your wisdom, wherever you may be, whether
surrounded by the spIendors oIthe eternaI city, or in the mists
oI those dreamy countries Cambrinus consoIes, improvising
songsoIjoyandoIine6abIesorrow, orconhdingtopaperyour
abstrusemeditations
,
singeroI!IeasureandoIeternaIAnguish,
phiIosopher, poet, artist, l saIute you in immortaIityl
| 74J
XXX!!!
GE T DRUNK
ONE SHOULD aIways be drunk. That`s the great thing, the onIy
question. Notto IeeI the horribIe burden oI Time weighing on
your shouIders and bowing you to the earth, you shouId be
drunk without respite.
Drunk with what: With wine, with poetry, or with virtue,
as you pIease. 8ut get drunk.
And iIsometimesyou shouId happen to awake, on the stairs
oIapaIace, onthegreengrass oI a ditch, inthe dreary soIitude
oI your own room
,
and hnd that your drunkenness is ebbing
or has vanished, ask the wind and the wave, ask star, bird, or
cIock, ask everything that Hies, everything that moans, every
thingthat Hows, everything that sings, everything that speaks,
askthem the time, and the wind
,
the wave, the star, the bird
and the cIock wiII aII repIy. "!t is Time to get drunkl !I you
arenottobethemartyredsIavesoITime,beperpetuaIIydrunkl
With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you pIease."
| 7 ]
XXXIV
ALREADY
A HUNDRED TIMES already the sun had sprung, radiant or sad,
out of the immense vat of the sea, a hundred times had plunged
back, sparkling or surly, into the vast bath of evening. For a
number of days we had been able to contemplate the other side
of the frmament, and to decipher the celestial alphabet of the
antipodes. And the passengers grumbled and growled. The
approach of land seemed even to aggravate their torments. "Are
we never again to enjoy sleep without being tossed about by
the waves and kept awake by the wind that snores louder than
we do? Are we never again to eat meat that is not as salty as
the element beneath us? Or sit quietly in an immovable arm
chair to digest it?"
Some thought of their fresides
,
were ho.esck fr their
unfaithful, ill-tempered wives and noisy _spring. All were so
obsessed by the image of the a
b
sent land that they would, I
really believe, have eaten grass as eagerly as herbiverous
animals.
At last we came in sight of the coast ; and as we drew nearer
we could see that it was a magnifcent and dazzling land. All
life's sweet sounds seemed to come from it a sof murmur,
and the shores, rich in vegetation of every kind, exhaled for
miles around a delicious fragrance of fruits and fowers.
Immediately everybody was happy, everybody abdicated his
bad humor. All quarrels were forgotten, all wrongs reciprocally
pardoned; preconcerted duels were erased from the memory,
and rancors vanished like smoke.
I alone was sad, inconceivably sad. Like a priest whose God
ha

b

--
snatched fro
-
;h
, I could not without heartbreaking
[
7
5
}
K bitterness tear myseIf away from the sea, so monotonousIy se-
ductive, soin5niteIyvaried in her tesim_Ii_ty and seem-
7 ingto contain andto representby aII herchangingmoods, the
angers, smiIes, humors, agonies and ecstasies ofaII the souIs

who haveIived, who Iive, or who wiII some day Iivel

ln saying fareweII to this incomparabIe beauty, l was sad
unto death, and that is why when aII my companions were
saying, "AtIast l "lcouId onIycry
,
"Already!"
NevertheIess, there it was, Iand with its noises, its passions,
aIIits waresanditsfestivities, it was a dazzIing,a magnihcent
IandfuII ofpromises, and from which a mysterious perfume o!
musk and roses came drifting out to us, and, Iike an amorous
whisper,themyriad music o!Iife.
| 76I
xx
WIN DOWS
LOOKINC Irom outside into an open window one never sees as
much as when one Iooks through a cIosed window. There is
nothingmoreproound
,
moremysterious,morepregnant,more
insidious, more dazzIing than a window Iighted by a singIe
candIe. Wht one can see out in the sunIi_ht is aIways Iess
interesting than what goes on behind a window pan, !n that
back orIummous squareh ves, me dreams, IiIe su6ers.
Across te ocean oI rooIs ! can see a middIeaged woman,
herIaceaIready Iined, who is Iorever bending over something
and who never goes out. Uut oI her Iace, her dress and her
gestures, out oIpracticaIIy nothing at aII, ! have made up this
woman's story, or rather Iegend, and sometimes ! teII it to
myseII and weep.
lI it had been an oId man ! couId have made up his just
as weII.
And l go to bed proud to have Iived and to have su0ered
in some one besides myseII.
!erhaps you wiII say "Are you sure that your story is the
real one" But what does it matter what reaIity is outside
myseII,
soIongasithasheIpedmetoIive, toIeeIthat! am, and
what l am:
| 77I
XXXV!
THE DESIRE TO PAINT
UNHAPPY perhaps is man, but happy the artist torn by desire l
l am consumed by a desire to paint the woman who ap-
pearedto me sorareIy and who so quickIy6ed,Iike a beautiIuI
regrettedthingthe voyagerIeaves behind as he is carried away
into the night. How Iong it is now, since she disappearedl
She is beautiIuI andmore than beautiIuI , she is surprising.
Darkness in her abounds, andaIIthat she inspires is nocturnaI
and proIound. Her eyes are two cavernswheremystery dimIy
gIistens, and Iike a Iightning 6ash, hergIanceiIIuminates : it is
an ex_I_ion inthe dqrk.
l have compared herto a bIack sun, iI onecan imagine a
bIack star pouring out Iight and happiness. But she makes one
think rather oI the moon, which has sureIy marked her with
its portentous inl!uence, not the white moon oI idyIIs which
resembIes a Irigid bride, butthe sinister and intoxicatingmoon
that hangs deep in a stormy night
,
hurtIed by the driven
cIouds , notthediscreetandpeaceIuImoonthatvisitspuremen
whiIetheysIeep,butthemoontornIromthesky,theconquered
andindignantmoonthattheThessaIianWitchescrueIIy compeI
to dance on the Irightened grass l
That IittIe Iorehead is inhabited by a tenacious wiII and a
desire Ior rey. Yet, in the Iower part oI this disturbing coun
tenance, withsensitive nostriIs quivering Ior theunknown and
the impossibIe, bursts, with inexpressibIe IoveIiness, a wide
mouth, red and white and aIIuring, that makes one dream oI
the miracIe oI a superb 6ower bIooming on voIcanic soiI.
Therearewomenwhoinspireyouwiththedesiretoconquer
themand to take your pIeasure oIthem, but this one hIIs you
onIywiththe desire to die sIowIy beneathher gaze.
'7
8]
XXXVll
THE MOON' S F AVORS
TurMccn, who is caprice itseI!
,
Iooked in through your win
dow as you Iay asIeep in your cradIe, and said: "This chiId
pIeases me."
And downiIy descending her stairway o! cIoud, she passed
throughthe window pane withouta sound. Then she stretched
herseI! over you with a mother's care!uI tenderness, and Ie!t
her coIors on your !ace. That is why your eyes are green and
your cheeks extraordinariIypaIe. And it was when you Iooked
at thIs visitor that your eyes grew so wondrousIy Iarge, and
she cIasped your throat so tenderIy that you have wanted to
weepever since.
At thesame time, in the !uIIness o! her joy, the Moon per-
vaded the whoIe room Iike a phosphoric atmosphere, Iike a
Iuminouspoison, andaIIthatIivingradiance thoughtandsaid.
"8y my kiss l make youeternaIIy mine. You shaII bebeauti!uI
aslambeauti!uI.YoushaIIIovewhatlIoveandwhatIovesme:
water, cIouds, siIence and the night, the green un!athomabIe
sea, water without !orm and muIti!orm, the pIace where you
HIC not, the Iover you wiII never know, monstrous owers,
deIirious per!ume, Ianguorous cats who Iie on pianos and
moanIikewomenwithsweetandhuskyvoices |
"And you shaII be Ioved by my Iovers, courted by my
courtiers. You shaII be the queen o! aII men with green eyes,
whose throats l have cIasped in my nocturna! caresses, o!
those who Iove the sea, the green, un!athomabIe, tumuItuous
sea, waterwithout!orm and muIti-!orm; the pIace where they
arenot
,
thewomantheywiIIneverknow, sinister owersIikethe
ccnscrs o! strange rdigion, per!umes that troubIe the wiII,
[ 79 ]
savage and voIuptuous beasts that are the embIems o! theIr
madness."
Andthat Is why, dear, spoIIt, accursed chiId l am Iying at
your!eet searchIng youaII over !or the reectIon o! the dread
Coddess, the !ate!uI godmother and poIson-nurse o! aII moon
mad men.
|
%
j
XXXVIII
WHICH IS THE REAL ON E ?
I ONCE KNEW a certaIn 8ndIcta who hIIed earth and aIrwIth
the IdeaI, and whose eyes scattered the seeds oI IongIng Ior
greatness, beauty and gIory, Ior everythIng that makes a man
beIIeve In ImmortaIIty.
8ut thIs mIracuIous gIrI was too beautIIuItoIIve Iong, and
so It was that, onIy a Iew days aIter I had come to know her,
she dIed, and I burIed her wIth my own hands one day when
SprIng was swayIng Its censer over the graveyards. I burIed
her wIth my own hands and shut her Into a coHn oI scented
andIncorruptIbIe wood IIke the coers oI lndIa.
AndwhIIemyeyesstIIIgazedonthespotwheremytreasure
Iay burIed
,
aII at once l saw a IIttIe creature who Iooked
sInguIarIyIIkethedeceased,stampIngupanddownontheIresh
earth In a strange hysterIcaI Irenzy, and who saId as she
shrIekedwIthIaughter . "!ook at me l I amthe reaI 8ndIctal
aperIecthussyl AndtopunIshyouIoryourbIIndness andyour
IoIIy, you shaIIIove me as I am."
8ut I wasIurIous and crIed. "No l nol no l "Andto empha-
sIzemy reIusaI I stamped so vIoIentIy on the earth that my Ieg
sank Into the new dug grave up to my knee, and now, IIke a
woII caught In trap, l am heId Iast, perhaps Iorever, to the
grave oIthe IdeaI.
8I}
XXXIX
A THOROUGH. BRED
SHE IS veryugIy. She isnevertheIess deIectabIe.Time andLove
have marked her with their cIaws, and crueIIy taught her that
everyinstant,everykiss,steaIsomethingoIyouth andIreshness.
She is reaIIy ugIy. She is
,
iI you Iike, ant, spider, skeIeton
even, but she is aIso the draught that reIreshes, magic and
magisteryl !n short she is exquisite.
Time couId not spoiI the sparkIing harmony oI her waIk,
nor aIter the indestructibIe eIegance oI her panopIy. Love has
not tainted the sweetness oI her chiId's breath, nor has Time
torn out a hair oIher abounding mane, Iromwhose wiId per
Iumes aII the mad vitaIity oI the French Midi is exhaIed
Nimes, Aix, ArIes, Avignon, Narbonne, TouIouse-amorous,
charmingcities,bIessedbythe sunl
VainIy have time and Iove sunk their teth into her , they
havenot in the Ieast diminished the iIIusive but eternaI charm
oI her boyish breast.
Worn,perhaps,butnotweary,andaIwaysgaIIant,shemakes
onethinkoIone oIthosethorough-bredsthattheeye oIa true
connoisseur wiII aIways recognize even when harnessed to
a hired hack or Iumbering coach.
And then she is so gentle and so fervent! She loves as one
Ioves in the IaII oI the year, the coming oI winter, it wouId
seem, has Iighted a Iresh hre in her heart, and there is never
anything tiresome about the serviIity oI her tenderness.
|B ]
XL
THE MIRROR
AN APPALLING-looking man enters and looks at himself in a
mIrror_
"Why do you look at yourself in the glass, since the sight
of your refection can only he painful to you?"
The appalling-looking man replies : "Sir, according to the
immortal principles of '8
9
, all men are equal hefore the law;
therefore ! have the right to look at myself in the glass ; with
pleasure or pain, that is an entirely personal matter."
In respect of common sense, ! was certainly right ; hut
from the point of view of the law, he was not wrong.
[
8 ]
XI
SEA. PORTS
A SEA-PORT is a pleasant place for a soul worn out with life's
struggles_ The wide expanse of sky, the mobile clouds
,
the ever
changing colors of the sea, the fashing beams of the light-houses
form a prism marvelously designed to gladden, without ever
tiring the eye. The ships with their long slim lines and com
plicated rigging that so gracefully ride the swells, serve to keep
alive in the soul a taste for rhythm and beauty. And, above all,
for the man who has lost all curiosity, all ambition, there is a
sort of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in watching, as
he reclines in the belvedere or leans on the mole
,
all the bustle
of people leaving, of people returning, people who still have
enough energy to have desires, who still desire to voyage, who
still desire to get rich_
| B I
XLII
POR TRAITS OF SOM E
MIS TR ESS ES
IN A MA'S boudoir, that is, in the smokingroom of an elegant
gambling.house, four men were smoking and drinking. They
were not precisely young, nor yet old
,
they were neither hand
some nor ugly; but young or old, they all bore the unmistakable
signs of veterans of pleasure, that indescribable something, that
cold ironi

sadness w
h
ic
h s
ays plainly: "We have lived to the
full, a
nd
- -
we
-
;re
-
Iooking for something we can love and
respect."
One of them turned the conversation to the subject of
women. It would have been more philosophical not to talk '
about them at all ; but after drinking,intelligent men are not
above commonplace discourse. And one listens to what is said
as one listens to dance music.
"Every man,
"
he began, "was once Cherub in's age. That
is the time when, if there are no dryads about, one embraces
the trees. It is the frst degree of love. In the second degree one
begins to choose. To be able to discriminate is already a sign
of decadence. It is then that one decidedly looks for beauty.
As for me
,
gentlemen, I am proud to say that I have long ago
arrived at the climacteric period of the third degree when
beauty itself no longer sufces unless it be seasoned with per
fues, jewe
I
s,
'
et ce
i
e
":
-
T aaI
i
tit that I sometimes long for the
fourth degree a
s f
r an unknown happiness, since it must, I am
sure, be distinguished by absolute calm. But throughout my
life, except at the age of Cherubin, I have always been more
afected than other men by the enervatin .-
ing mediocrit
y
of women. WatJ
"
li
ke about
"*:` ` -& ~. ,+
[ 8
5 ]
S
N
,,'

^ |
'Q
simpIicity. Youmayjudgethen howmy Iastmistressmademe
sur.
.
. ~+- . ,
"bhe was the iIIegitimate daughter o! a prince. 8eauti!uI,
that goes without saying, otherwise why shouId 1 have taken
her: ut she spoiIedthat spIendidquaIity by being indecentIy,
monstrousIy ambitious. She was the sort o! woman who was
aIways wantipto y the man. 'You are not a manl Ahl i!
1 were onIy a manl U! the two o! us ! am reaIIy the manl '
Such were the insu6erabIe re!rains that came out o! a mouth
!romwhich1 wanted onIy songsto soar. !!1 Ietmy admiration
!ta bapoen:,anoperscapeme,she wouId straightway
say. 'You think it very !orce!uI, don't you: 8ut are you any
judge o! !orce!uIness:' And she wouId begin to argue.
"Une hne day she took up chemistry, and a!ter that 1
aIways!oundagIassmaskbetweenherIipsandmine.Andthen,
what a prudel !!, on occasion, ! shocked her by a somewhat
too amorous gesture, she wouId recoiI Iike a sensitive pIant."
"8uthow did itend:"interruptedone o!themen. "!never
knew you had so much patience."
"Cod," he repIied, "invariabIy suppIies a remedy !or every
iII.Uneday!!oundmyMinerva,whohadsuchathirst!orideaI
!orce, tete-a-tete with my vaIet, and in a posture which, ! !eIt,
made it incumbent upon me to retire discreetIy so as not to
make them bIush. That evening 1 dismissed them both, a!ter
paying them their wages in arrears."
"WeII, as !ar as ! am concerned," went on the man who
hadinterrupted,"!have no onetobIamebutmyseI!.Happiness
entered my house and 1 !aiIed to recognizeher. Not so many
yearsago
,
Fategrantedmethepossession o!awoman who was
without doubtthe sweetest, the mostsubmissive, and the most
devoted creature in the worId, anoh aIwy- ~adyl
j And without enthusiasml! course 1 want to, since i_gives
you pIeasure.' That was her invariabIe answer , and, 1 assure
yu, i!youweretogivethiswaII orthatso!aa good bastinado,
you wouId drawIzpmthem more sighs than the most !prious
7
throeso!Ioveever drew!rommymistress'sbreast. A!terIiving
[ 8 ]
togetherIora year she hnaIIy conIessed thatshe had neverIeI
7
heIeast

IeasureinIove. TheunequaIdueIendedby disgusting

me, and so this incomparabIe girI got herseII married. Some
yearsIaterthe Iancy struckme to seeher again. AIter showing
mehersixbeautiIuIchiIdrenshesaid.
" 'WeII, dear Iriend, the wiIe is stiII as virginal as your
mistress was.' Nothing about her had changed. Sometimes l
havemy regrets. l shouId have married her."
The others Iaughed
,
and the third began in his turn :
"CentIemen, lhaveknownasortoI surewhichyouhave
probabIy negIected. l reIer comedy in Iov and comedy
that inno way excIudesadmiration. admired myIastmistress,
l beIieve, more than you Ioved or hated yours. And every one,
Iike myseII, was in admiration beIore her. Whenever we went
to a restaurant, aIter a Iew moments, ryone Iorgot their
own Ioodto watch her eat. Even the waiters andthe Iadypre
siding over the desk, caught by this contagious ecstasy, Iorgot
their duties. ln short
,
l Iived intimateIy Ior some time with a
Iiving phenomenon. She ate, chewed, munched,

yured,
guIpedandswaIIoqvrit) _ayet, mst careIair in th
woHIepte in ecstasy Ior a Iong time. She had such a
gentIe, dreamy, EngIish and romantic way oI saying, 'l am
hungry.' And day and night, dispIaying the prettiest teeth
imaginabIe, she wouId repeat these words which so toud
and tickIed me atthe same time. l couId have made a Iortune
displaying her at street fairs as a polyphagous monster. I fed
herweIIbut, in spite oIthat, sheIeIt me. . .' -"For a whoIe
saIe grocer, no doubt:"-"WeII, something oI the sort, a
kind oI commissary cIerk who, by some juggIer`s trick known
onIy to himseII, is abIe to keep the poor chiId su|j_with
the rations oI severaI soIdiers. That, at Ieast, i ha l have
aIways supposed."
"As Ior me,"the Iourth one said, "lhave enduredthe most
atrocioussu6eringthroughthe exactopposite oIwhatisknown
and reproved as Ieminine seIhshness. l hnd it quite thankIess
[ 8
7 ]
I '
'-
oIyou, Iar too IortunatemortaIs, to compIain oIthe imperIec-
tions oI yourmistresses l "
This wassaidinaII seriousness by aman with a gentIe and
pIacid air, and an aImost cIericaI physiognomy, but Iighted,
unIortunateIy,byverypaIegreyeyes , the sortoIeyesthatsay.
"! wish it l "or, "You must ! "or eIse, "! never Iorgive l "
"Nervousaslknowyoutobe,C cowardIyandIrivoIous
asyou
,
K. and1.bothare. . . iIyouhadbeenyokedtoacertain
woman I haveknown, youwouIdeitherhave run away, oryou
wouId now be dead. !, as you see, survived. !mainea son
incapabIe oI committing the Ieast IauIt, either oI j udgment or
snt; unagneadispositionoI ah_eIess sereni

; a devo-
1ounot simuIatedand withoutstress , gentIeness without weak-
nss, energy without vioIetee ThehiIy tms Iove air
o1m:esemb!s

aoyage vertiginousIy monotonous, over

a surIace as smooth and poIished as a mirror that reHected
aII my IeeIings
,
aII my gestures, with the ironic hdeIity oI my
own conscience, so that ! couId never make a thoughtIess ges
ture, never induIge ish emotion without immediateIy
perceiving the siIento oI my inseparabIe spectre. !ove
seemed more I,mr

nship. ! don't know how ny

m:sgu:ded acts se saved me Trom and t5a! I 5ieR_ Igret
n
_
t having committed_How many debts she made me pay in
spite oI myseII She deprived me oI aII the benehts oI my
personaI Io_. Wiua co!mpasse ruIer s Lared my
wms. And, asthehnaI horror, she never asked Ior gratitude,
oncethedangerwaspast. HowmanytimesI hadtokeep myseII
Irom taking her bythe throat and crying: 'Can`t you ever be
imperIect, miserabIe woman, so that ! can Iove you without
mortihcation andwithoutanger ! ' orseveraIyears I continued
to admire her with hate in my heart. !n the end it was not !
who died oIit| "
"Ah! "saidthe others, "so shei sdead:"
"Yes l lt couId not go on Iike that. !ove had become a
crushing nightmare to me. Do or die, as they say in poIitIcs,
thatwasthe aIternative Iate heId out Ior me l Une evening, in
88}
a woods . . . beside the sea . . . we had taken a melancholy walk
during which her eyes refected all the sweetness of heaven,
while my heart was as hideous as hell . . .
"What! "
"What do you mean?"
"You mean . . . ?"
"It was inevitable. I have too great a sense of fairness to
beat, or to illtreat, or to dismiss an irreproachable servitor.
But I had to fnd a way of reconciling this sentiment with the
horror that the woman inspired in me; that is, I had to get rid
of the creature without, however, showing her any disrespect.
What would you have had me do with her, since she ws
perfect?"
The three other men looked at him with an uncertain and
slightly stupefed expression, half feigning to understand
,
half
implicitly admitting that they felt, as for themselves, incapable
of such an inexorable solution, although it had, indeed, been
admirably explained.
Then, to kill Time which has such a hardy life, as well as to
accelerate Life which fows so slowly, they ordered a few more
bottles of wine.
| I
XLIII
THE GALLAN T MARKS MAN
As THE CARRIAGE was going through the woods, he had it stop
near a shooting gallery, saying that it would be pleasant to
take a shot or two to kill Time. And is not killing that monster
the most ordinary and legitimate occupation of all of us?
Gallantly, then, he held out his hand to his dear, delectable,
and execrable wife, to the mysterious woman to whom he owed
so many pleasures and so many pains, and perhaps a large
part of his genius as well.
Several shots went wide of the mark; one even buried
itself in the ceiling; and as the charming creature began to
laugh hilariously, twitting her husband on his want of dexterity
,
he turned toward her brusquely and said: "You see that doll
over there to the right, with its nose in the air and its haughty
mien? Well now, my dear angel, I am going to imagine it i
you." And he closed his eyes and fred. The doll was neatly
decapitated.
Then bowing to his dear, delectable and execrable wife,
his inevitable and pitiless Muse, and respectfully kissing her
hand, he added: "Ah, dear angel, thank you so much for my
dexterity! "
[ 9 I
XlV
THE SOU P AND THE CLOUDS
My DEAR little mad beloved was serving my dinner
,
and l was
looking out of the open dining-room window contemplating
those moving architectural marvels that God constructs out of
mist, edifces of the impalpable. And as l looked l was saying
to myself: "All those phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful
as my beloved's beautiful eyes, as the green eyes of my mad
monstrous little beloved."
All of a sudden I felt a terrible blow of a fst on my back,
and heard a husky and charming voice, an hysterical voice, a
hoarse brandy voice, the voice of my dear little beloved, saying:
"Aren't you ever going to eat your soup, you damned bastard
of a cloud-monger?"
j 9!|
XV
THE S HOOTIN G G ALLE R Y
AND THE CE ME T ER Y
CEMETERY VIEW TAVERN -"Singular sign," remarked our
foot-traveler, "but well calculated to make any one thirsty!
Certainly the host of this tavern must appreciate Horace and
the poet-pupils of Epicurus. He may even know the supreme
refnement of the Egyptians for whom no feast was complete
without a skeleton
,
or without some emblem of life's brevity."
And he entered, drank a glass of beer facing the graves,
and slowly smoked a cigar. Then he took a notion to go down
to the cemetery where the grass was so tall and so inviting,
and where such a generous sun held sway.
And certainly heat and sun were rampant there, indeed it
looked as though the drunken sun was sprawled full length on
the carpet of magnifcent fowers, manured by dissolution.
The air was full of buzzing life -the life of the infnitely small
-interrupted at regular intervals by shots from a nearby
shooting gallery that burst like the explosion of champagne
corks in the midst of the murmurs of a muted symphony.
Then, his brain heated by the sun, with the hot perfumes of
Death all around him, he heard a voice whispering within the
grave on which he was seated. And the voice said: "A curse
on your targets and on your rifes, turbulent live men who have
so little regard for the dead and their sacred repose. A curse
on your ambitions, a curse on your schemes
,
impatient mortals
who come to study the art of killing next to Death's sanctuary!
If you only knew how easy it is to win the prize, how easy it
is to hit the mark, and how everything is nothing, except Death,
you would not tire yourselves so, laborious men, and you would
[ 92 ]
not come here so often to trouble the slumbers of those who
have hit the Mark long ago, the only mark worth hitting, life,
detestable life ! "
,
]
LOSS OF A HALO
AT! You here, old man? You in such a place ! You the
ambros the drinker
.
essences ! This is really
a surprise."
"My friend, you know my terror of horses and vehicles.
Well, just now as I was crossing the boulevard in a great
hurry, splashing through the mud in the midst of a seething
chaos, and with death galloping at me from every side, I gave
a sudden start and my halo slipped of my head and fell into
the mire of the macadam. I was far too frightened to pick it
up. I decided it was less unpleasant to lose my insignia than
to get my bones broken. Then too, I refected, every cloud has
a silver lining. I can now go about incognito, be as low as I
please and indulge in debauch like ordinary mortals. So here
I am as you see, exactly like yourself.
"
"But aren't you going to advertise for your halo
,
at least?
Or notify the police?"
"No, I think not. I like it here. You are the only person
who has recognized me. Besides I am bored with dignity, and
what's more, it is perfectly delightful to think of some bad poet
picking it up and brazenly putting it on. To make some one
happy, ah, what a pleasure! Especially some one you can
laugh at. Think of X! Think of Z! Don't you see how amusing
it will be?"
| ]
XVII
MISS BIS TOUR Y
As I WAS nearing the end of the suburb, walking along under
the gas lamps, I felt an arm being slipped into mine, and I
heard a voice in my ear, saying: "Aren't you a doctor?"
I looked; it was a tall, robust young woman with very wide
open eyes
,
hardly any make-up, and long hair fying in the
breeze with the strings of her bonnet.
"No, I am not a doctor," I said, "so, kindly let me go."
"Oh! Yes ! you are a doctor. I can see that. Come home with
me. You'll not be sorry, I promise you! " "Yes, yes, I'll come,
but later, after the doctor, what the devil ! " "Ah! Ah! " she
said still clinging to my arm and bursting out laughing. "You're
a doctor who likes to have his little joke. I've known many like
that. Come."
I am passionately fond of mystery because I always hope
to discover the solution. So I let myself be piloted by this
chance companion, or rather by this unhoped-for enigma.
I omit the description of her wretched lodgings ; it can be
found in several of the well-known classic French poets. One
detail
,
however, Regnier overlooked: two or three pictures of
famous doctors were hanging on the walls.
How I was pampered. A big fre, spiced wine, cigars; and as
she ofered me these good things, and herself lighted my cigar,
this fantastic creature said: "Now make yourself comfortable,
my dear, make yourself at home. It will bring back those good
days of your youth at the hospital. But what's this? Where ever
did you get these gray hairs? You weren't like that not so
long ago when you were L . o . 's intern. I remember you were
always his assistant for serious operations. That was a man
[ 95 ]
who liked to cut and hack and carve, I tell you! It was always
you who handed him the instruments, the thread and the
sponges. And how proudly he used to say, looking at his watch
after the operation: 'Five minutes, gentlemen! ' Oh! I go every
where. I certainly know doctors."
A few minutes later she went on with the same tune, saying:
"You are a doctor, aren't you, my lamb?"
This unintelligible refrain made me leap to my feet. "No ! "
I cried furiously.
"Surgeon then?"
"No! No ! unless it would be to cut of your head. Blessed
holy-ciborium-of-a-holy-mackerel ! "
"Wait," she went on, "let me show you."
And from her wardrobe she took out a bundle of papers that
contained nothing more nor less than pictures of famous doctors
of the day, lithographs by Maurin which for years might have
been seen on the Quai Voltaire.
"Look, do you know this one?"
"Yes, it's X. Besides his name at the bottom. But I
happen to know him personally."
"Why, of course you do, I knew that. Look, that is Z., the
one who used to say when speaking of X. : 'That monster who
wears the blackness of his soul on his face! ' And simply because
they weren't in agreement on a certain matter. How we used
to laugh about it in Medical. Do you remember? -See
,
that's
K., the one who informed against the insurgents who were his
patients in the hospital. It was at the time of the uprisings. How
could such a handsome man have such a hard heart? -Now
that is W., the famous English doctor; I caught him when he
came to Paris. He looks like a young lady, doesn't he?"
And as I was fngering another bundle tied with string
also lying on the table : "Wait," she said, "those are the interns,
and this bundle is the externs."
And she spread fan-like a mass of photographs of very much
younger faces.
j 96I
"When we meet next time you'll give me your photograph
too, won't you darling?"
"But," 1 said, also pursuing my idee fxe, "why do you
think 1 am a doctor?"
"It's because you're so sweet and so good to women."
"Singular logic," 1 thought.
"Oh! 1 never make a mistake; 1 have known so many.
1 love them so, all these gentlemen, that although 1 am not
sick 1 go to see them sometimes for nothing, j ust to see them.
There are some who say to me coldly: 'You are not sick at all ! '
But there are others who understand me because 1 am nice to
them."
"And when they don't understand you . . . ?"
"Well ! as 1 have bothered them for nothing, 1 leave ten
francs on the mantlepiece. They are so good, so gentle, doctors !
1 have discovered at the Pitie a young intern who is as pretty
as an angel, and who is so polite ! And who has to work, poor
boy! His comrades told me he didn't have a penny because
his parents are so poor they can't send him anything. That
gave me courage. After all, 1 am not bad looking although not
too young. 1 said to him: 'Come to see me, come to see me often.
With me you don't have to worry; 1 don't need money.' But,
of course, 1 made him understand in all sorts of ways, 1 didn't
j ust tell him brutally like that ; 1 was so afraid of humiliating
him, the dear boy! Well, you know, I've got a funny notion,
and 1 don't dare tell him. I'd like him to come to see me
with his instrument case and his apron, and even with a little
blood on it."
She said this with perfect simplicity
,
as a man might say
to an actress he was in love with: "I should like you to be
dressed in the costume you wear in the famous role you
created."
And 1 still obstinately persisted: "Can you remember the
time and the occasion when you frst felt this particular
passion ?"
1 had some difculty in making her understand. Finally
' 7J
1 succeeded. But then she replied with such a sad air, and, as
1 remember, with downcast eyes : "I don't know 1 don't
remember."
What oddities one fnds in big cities when one knows how
to roam and how to look! Life swarms with innocent monsters.
Lord, my God, You the Creator, you the Master; you who have
made both Law and Liberty; you the sovereign who permits,
you the j udge who pardons; you who contain all motives and
all causes and who, perhaps, have put a taste for the horrible
in my mind i order to convert my heart
,
like the cure at the
point of the knife; Lord have pity on, have pity on mad men
and mad women! 0 Creator ! can monsters exist in the eyes
of the One who alone knows why they exist, who alone knows
how
t
ey have been made and how they could not have been
made.
[ 98 ]
XLVIII
AN YWHERE OU T OF THE
WORLD
LIFE is a hospital where every patient is obsessed by the desire
of changing beds. One would like to sufer opposite the stove,
another is sure he would get well beside the window.

It always seems to me that I should be happy anywhere
but where I am .. and this question of moving is one that I am
eternally discussing with my soul.
"Tell me, my soul, poor chilly soul, how would you like
to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and you would be
as blissful as a lizard in the sun. It is a city by the sea; they
say that it is built of marble, and that its inhabitants have
such a horror of the vegetable kingdom that they tear up all
the trees. You see it is a country after my own heart; a
country entirely made of mineral and light, and with liquid
to refect them."
My soul does not reply.
"Since you are so fond of being motionless and watching
the pageantry of movement
,
would you like to live in the
beatifc land of Holland? Perhaps you could enjoy yourself in
that country which you have so long admired in paintings on
museum walls. What do you say to Rotterdam, you who love
forests of masts, and ships that are moored on the doorsteps
of houses?"
My soul remains silent.
I
"Perhaps you would like Batavia better? There, moreover,
we should fnd the wit of Europe wedded to the beauty of the
tropics."
[ 9 ]
Not a word. Can my soul be dead?
"Have you sunk into so deep a stupor that you are happy
only in your unhappiness ? If that is the case, let us fy to
countries that are the counterfeits of Death. I know j ust the
place for us, poor soul. We will pack up our trunks for Tomeo.
We will go still farther, to the farthest end of the Baltic Sea;
still farther from life if possible; we will settle at the Pole.
There the sun only obliquely grazes the earth, and the slow
alternations of daylight and night abolish variety and increase
that other half of nothingness, monotony. There we can take
deep baths of darkness, while sometimes for our entertainment,
the Aurora Borealis will shoot up its rose-red sheafs like the
refections of the freworks of hell ! "
At last my soul explodes ! "Anywhere! Just so it is out of
the world! "
L 100 ]
XLIX
B EAT U P THE POOR
FOR FIFTEEN days I had shut myself up i n my room and had
surrounded myself with the most popular books of the day
(that was sixteen or seventeen years ago) ; I am speaking of
books that treat of the art of making people hap , wise, and
rich in twenty-four hours. I had digested -or rather swallowed
-all the lucubrations of all the purveyors of public hapi
ness -of those who advise the poor to become slaves, and
of those who encourage them to believe that they are all
dethroned kings. It will be readily understood that I was in
a dazed state of mind bordering on idiocy.
Nevertheless I seemed to be conscious of an obscure germ of
an idea buried deep in my mind, far superior to the whole cata
logue of old wives' remedies I had so recently scanned. But it
was still only the idea of an idea somethin infnitel va ue.
n I left my room with a terrible thirst. The passion for 1
bad literature engenders a proportionate need for fresh air
and cooling drinks.
As I was about to enter a bar, a beggar held out his hat to
me and looked at me with one of those unforgettable expressions
which, if spirit moved matter or if a magnetizer's eye ripened
grapes, would overturn thrones.
At the same time I heard a voice whispering in my ear
,
a
voice I recognized perfectly; it was te voice of my good Angel,
or good Demon
,
who accompanies me everywhere. Since Soc
rates had his good Demon, why should not I have my good
Angel, why should not I, like Socrates, have te honor of
receiving a certifcate of madness signed by the subtle Lelut
and the knowing Baillarger?
[
I0I]
..
l
/ J
'
There is, however, this diference between Socrates' Demon
and mine, that his Demon appeared to him only to forbid, to
war or to prevent
,
whereas mine deigns to advise, suggest,
persuade. Poor Socrates had onl) a censor; mine is a great
afrmer, mine is a Demon oIti, a Dmori com:ht.
.
-" Well, this is wd vi hisjred to me : "X-;an is
the equal of another only if he can prove it, and to be worthy
of liberty a man must fght for it."
Immediately I leaped upon the beggar. With a blow of my
fst I closed one of his eyes which in an instant grew as big
as a ball. I broke one of my fnger nails breaking two of his
teeth and since, having been bor delicate and never having
learned to box, I knew I could not knock out the old man
quickly, I seized him by the collar with one hand and with
the other took him by the throat and began pounding his head
against the wall. I thaI hl< f?st ta!en the pre
caution of looking around me and I felt sure that in this deserted
s.b;"""- w9uld isturb" me for some time

Then, "having hy a vigorous kick in the hack, strong enough

to hreak his shoulder hlades, felled the sexegenarian
,
I picked
up a large branch that happened to he lying on the ground,
and beat him with the obstinate energy of a cook tenderizing
a beefsteak.
Suddenly -0 mirace! 0 bliss of the philosopher when he
sees the truth of his theory verifed! -I saw that antique carcass
turn over, jump up with a force I should never have expected
in a machine so singularly out of order; aI with a look of
hate tat seemed to me a very good omen, the decrepit vaga
hohurled himself at me and proceeded to give me two hlack
eyes, to knock out four of my teeth and, with the same branch
I had used, to beat me to a pulp. Thus it was that my energetic
treatment had restored his pride and given him new life.
I then, hy many signs, fnally made , him understand that
I considered the argument settled, and getting up I said to him
with all the satisfaction of one of the Porch sophists : "Sir,
you are my equal! I heg you to do me the honor of sharing
[
102 ]
my purse.Andremember, iIyouarerea n
aypur cos _ YOI fr as you mt: a_ Ihe
theory whiH: I have yd
.
__iq/ crt!rce o png
o1n you."
swore that he had understood my theory, and that he
wouId !oIIow my advice.
|
J01 I
L
THE FAITHF UL DOG
To M. Joseph Stevens.
My ADMIRATION for Bufon has never made me blush even
before the young writers of my generation. But it is not that
painter of majestic nature ! would call to my aid today. No.
Today I should prefer to appeal to Stern, to whom I would say:
"Descend from the skies or rise from the Elysian Fields, senti
mental jester, incomparable jester, and inspire me with a song
worthy of you on behalf of the poor dog, the faithful dog!
Return astride that famous ass of yours, which always accom
panies you in the memory of posterity; and above all let him
not forget to bring along, daintily held between his lips
,
your
immortal macaroon! "
Away, academic muse ! I'll have nothing t o do with that
pedantic old prude. No, ! invoke the friendly, lively muse of
cities to help me sing the song of the faithful dog, the mangy
dog, the pitiful dog, the dog everybody kicks around because
he is dirty and covered with feas, except the poor man whose
companion he is, and the poet who looks upon him with a
brotherly eye.
But the devil take your pedigreed fop! The vain impertinent
quadruped, King-Charles, Dane, pup or lap.dog, always so
pleased with himself that he darts around visitors' legs or
bounds indiscreetly into their laps. He is as turbulent as a
child, as stupid as a prostitute, and often as surly and insolent
as a servant ! Above all, the devil take those four-legged snakes
called greyhounds, that do nothing but shake and haven't
enough fair to pick up their own master's scent, not enough
sense in those fattened heads to play dominoes.
[ 104 ]
To their baskets with them! All those tiresome parasites !
Back to their silken and tufted baskets ! For I sing the mangy
dog, the pitiful, the homeless dog, the roving dog, the circus
dog
,
the dog whose instinct, like that of the gypsy and the
strolling player, has been so wonderfully sharpened by neces
sity, marvelous mother and true patroness of native wit.
I sing the luckless dog who wanders alone through the
winding ravines of huge cities, or the one who blinks up at
some poor outcast of society with his spiritual eyes, as much
as to say: "Take me with you, and out of our j oint misery we
will make a kind of happiness."
"Where do dogs go?" Nestor Roqueplan once asked in an
immortal article which he has doubtlessly forgotten, and which
I alone, and perhaps Sainte-Beuve, still remember today.
Where do dogs go, you ask, unobservant man? They go
about their business.
Business appointments
,
love afairs. Through fog, through
snow, through mire, under the canicular sun, in pelting rain,
they go, they core, they trot, and skulk in and out of carriage
wheels, driven by their feas, their passions, their needs, or their
obligations. Like the rest of us, they rise betimes and go seek
ing their daily bread, or running after pleasure.
Some of them sleep in tumble-down shacks on the outskirts
of the city, but regularly every day they core to town at the
same hour to beg for alms at the door of some kitchen of the
Palais Royale; others, in bands, trot fve miles or more to share
the meals that certain old maids prepare for them, poor virgins
who ofer their unemployed hearts to dumb beasts since stupid
men have no use for them.
Others who, like run-away negroes, mad with love, leave
their countryside to core frisking around a lovely city bitch
who is, I'm afraid, a little negligent as to her appearance, but
proud, nevertheless, and grateful.
And they are very punctual without memoranda, note-books
or card-cases.
Do you know lazy Belgium? And have you admired
,
as I
[ 105 ]
have, those sturdy dogs harnessed to the butcher's cart, the
miIkman's or the baker's, and who make it pIain by their
triumphant barking, how happy and proud they are to be the
horse's riv
AndherearetwodogsthatbeIongto anevenmoreciviIized
order. AIIowme to take you to the room o!anitinerantcIown
who ishimseI!absent !or the moment. A painted wooden bed
without curtains and with rumpIed and bug-stained bIankets,
two cane chairs, an iron stove, a !ew diIapidated musicaI in
struments. Uhl the dreary !urniturel 8ut Iook, i! you pIease,
at those two inteIIigent personages, dressed up in such sump
tuousandsuchshabbysuitswithtroubadours'orsoIdiers'caps
ontheirheads,whoarewatchingwith aII asorcerer`svigiIance,
a nameIess concoction simmering on the Iighted stove, a Iong-
handIed spoon stuck into it Iike one o!thosepoIes atop a new
buiIding, announcing that the masonry work is 5nished.
ltseems onIy!air, don'tyouthink,thatsuchzeaIous actors
shouId not start out on the road without hrst !orti!ying their
stomachswitha good,soIid soupAnd can't you Iorgivethem
their evident greediness, the poor deviIs, who every day have
to !ace the indi0erence o!the pubIic and the injustice o! an
impressario who aIways takes the Iion's share !or himseI! and
who eats more soup aII aIone than the !our IittIe actors put
together
Howo!ten l have stood watching them, smiIing and moved
by these !our-!ooted phiIosophers wiIIing sIaves, submissive
and devoted, that the repubIic's dictionary might very weII
designatepab/iebeae]aetors, i!the repubIic were not too busy
makingmenhppy towastetimegivingdogstheirdue.
And how many times have I thought that there must be
somewhere (a!ter aI! why not} , as recompense !or so much
courage, patience and !abor, a speciaI paradise !or good dogs,
poor dogs,mangydogsanddisconsoIate dogs. Doesn'tSweden-
borgaBrmthatthereisone!ortheTurksand!ortheDutch
The shepherds o! VirgiI and Theocritus were wont to re
ceive !or their various songs, a good cheese, or a new ute o!
[ 106 ]
better make, or a goat with swollen udders. The poet, who
has sung the song of the poor dog, received as his recompense
a waistcoat of a hue that is both rich and faded, making you
think of autumnal suns, the beauty of women past their prime,
and Indian summer.
No one present at the tavern of the rue Villa Hermosa will
ever forget with what eagerness the painter stripped of his
waistcoat and handed it to the poet, for he understood how right
and ftting it was to honor the faithful dog in song.
Just so, in former times, one of the magnifcent Italian
tyrants would have ofered the divine Aretino, a gemstudded
dagger or a court mantle
,
in return for a precious sonnet or a
curious satiric poem.
And every time the poet dons the painter's waistcoat he is
forced to think of faithful dogs, philosophic dogs, and of Indian
summers and the beauty of women past their prime.
j!07 |
E PILOG UE
Happy of heart I climbed the hill
To contemplate the town in its enormity,
Brothel and hospital, prison, purgatory, hell,
Monstrosities fowering like a fower.
But you, 0 Satan, patron of my pain
,
Know I went not to weep for them in vain.
But like old lecher to- mIstress goe ,
Seeking but rapture, I sought out this trull
Immense, whose hell
iS
h c arm resuscItates.
Whether in morning sheets you lie asleep,
Hidden and heavy with a cold, or faunt
Through night in golden spangled veils,
Infamous City, I adore you! Courtesans
And bandits, you ofer me such j oys,
The common herd can never understand.
[ 103 ]
POEMS FROM "FLOWERS OF EVIL"
The themes of some of the prose poems of Paris Spleen are
similar to those of verse poems in the Fleurs du Mal which
Baudelaire had written earlier. Five of these poems, in which
the "correspondence" is most apparent, have been chosen for
comparison.
[ 109 ]
HER HAIR
o feece that down her nape rolls, plume on plume !
o curls ! 0 scent of nonchalance and ease !
What ecstasy ! To populate this room
With memories it harbours in its gloom,
I'd shake it like a banner on the breeze.
Hot Africa and languid Asia play
(An absent world, defunct, and far away)
Within that scented forest, dark and dim.
As other souls on waves of music swim,
Mine on its perfume sails, as on the spray.
I'll j ourney there, where man and sap flled tree
Swoon in hot light for hours. Be you my sea,
Strong tresses ! Be the breakers and gales
That waft me. Your black river holds, for me,
A dream of masts and rowers, fames and sails.
A port, resounding there, my soul delivers
With long deep draughts of perfumes, scent, and clamour,
Where ships, that glide through gold and purple rivers,
Fling wide their vast arms to embrace the glamour
Of skies wherein the heat forever quivers.
I'll plunge my head in it, half-drunk with pleasure -
In this black ocean that engulfs her form.
My soul, caressed with wavelets there may measure
Infnite rockings in embalmed leisure,
Creative idleness that fears no storm!
[ llO ]
Blue tresses, like a shadow-stretching tent,
You shed the blue of heavens round and far.
Along its downy fringes as I went
I reeled half-drunken to confuse the scent
Of oil of coconuts, with musk and tar.
My hand forever in your mane so dense,
Rubies and pearls and sapphires there will sow,
That you to my desire be never slow-
Oasis of my dreams, and gourd from whence
Deep-draughted wines of memory will fow.
Translated by Roy Campbell
Cf: "A Hemisphere In Your Hair," page 31 .
[
HI ]
QUESTIONING AT MIDNIGHT
The clock, striking the midnight hour,
ironically summons us
to call to mind how we made use
of this today that's here no more:
-we have, today, prophetic day,
Friday the thirteenth! -in despite
of all we know that's good and right
of heresy made great display;
yes, we've blasphemed the name of Jesus,
unquestionable God and Lord,
and, like a sycophant at the board
of some repulsive bloated Croesus,
to give the brute his flthy sport
we, Satan's loyal subj ect, have
afronted everything we love
and fattered what disgusts our heart ;
and, cringing torturer, we've hurt
the weak, whom we scorned wrongfully,
but bowed low to Stupidity,
great bull-browed beast, throned and inert ;
for it's brute Matter, dull as clay,
that these our pious lips have kissed,
and the pale radiance we've blessed
is but the corpse-light of decay;
[ 112 ]
and last, to drown our vertigo
in the full madness of despair,
we, haughty high-priest of the Lyre,
whose ftting glory is to show
the raptures of the works of death,
thirstless have drunk, and hunger less eaten!
Quick, quick! Blow out the lamp! Stay hidden
here in "this gloom till our last breath.
Translated by Frederick Morgan
Cf: "One O'Clock In The Morning," page 15.
[ 113 ]
INVITATION TO THE VOYAGE
My child, my sister, dream
How sweet all things would seem
Were we in that kind 'land to live together,
And there love slow and long,
There love and die among
Those scenes that image you, that sumptuous weather.
Drowned suns that glimmer there
Through cloud-dishevelled air
Move me with such a mystery as appears
Within those other skies
Of your treacherous eyes
When I behold them shining through their tears.
There, there is nothing else but grace and measure,
Richness, quietness, and pleasure.
Furniture that wears
The lustre of the years
Softly would glow within our glowing chamber,
Flowers of rarest bloom
Profering their perfume
Mixed with the vague fragrances of amber ;
Gold ceilings would there be,
Mirrors deep as the sea,
The walls all in an Eastern splendor hung
Nothing but should address
The soul's loneliness,
Speaking her sweet and secret native tongue.
[ 114 ]
There, there is nothing else but grace and measure,
Richness, quietness, and pleasure.
See, sheltered from the swells
There in the still canals
Those drowsy ships that dream of sailing forth;
It is to satisfy
Your least desire, they ply
Hither through all the waters of the earth.
The sun at close of day
Clothes the felds of hay,
Then the canals, at last the town entire
In hyacinth and gold:
Slowly the land is rolled
Sleepward under a sea of gentle fre.
There, there is nothing else but grace and measure,
Richness, quietness, and pleasure.
Translated by Richard Wilbur
Cf: "L'/nvitation Au Voyage," page 32.
[ 115
]
COMES THE CHARMING EVENING
Comes the charming evening, the criminal's friend,
Comes conspirator-like on soft wolf tread.
Like a large alcove the sky slowly closes,
And man approaches his bestial metamorphosis.
To arms that have laboured, evening is kind enough,
Easing the strain of sinews that have borne their rough
Share of the burden ; it is evening that relents
To those whom an angry obsession daily haunts.
The solitary student now raises a burdened head
And the back that bent daylong sinks into its bed.
Meanwhile darkness dawns, flled with demon familiars
Who rouse, reluctant as business-men, to their afairs,
Their ponderous flight rattling the shutters and blinds.
Against the lamplight, whose shivering is the wind's,
Prostitution spreads its light and life in the streets :
Like an anthill opening its issues it penetrates
Mysteriously everywhere by its own occult route;
Like an enemy mining the foundations of a fort,
Or a worm in an apple, eating what all should eat,
It circulates securely in the city's clogged heart.
The heat and hiss of kitchens can be felt here and there,
The panting of heavy bands, the theatres' clamour.
Cheap hotels, the haunts of dubious solaces,
Are filling with tarts, and crooks, their sleek accomplices,
And thieves, who have never heard of restraint or remorse,
Return now to their work as a matter of course,
Forcing safes behind carefully re-Iocked doors,
To get a few days' living and put clothes on their whores_
[ 116 ]
Collect yourself, my soul, this is a serious moment,
Pay no further attention to the noise and movement.
This is the hour when the pains of the sick sharpen,
Night touches them like a torturer, pushes them to the open
Trapdoor over the gulf that is all too common.
Their groans overfow the hospital. More than one
Will not come back to taste the soup's familiar favour
In the evening, with some friendly soul, by his own fre.
Indeed, many a one has never even known
The hearth's warm charm. Pity such a one.
Translated by David Paul
Cf: "Evening Twilight," page 44.
[ 117 ]
BEAUTY
I am as lovely as a dream i n stone;
My breast on which each fnds his death in turn
Inspires the poet with a love as lone
As everlasting clay, and as taciturn.
Swan-white of heart, a sphinx no mortal knows,
My throne is in the heaven's azure deep;
I hate all movement that disturbs my pose;
I smile not ever, neither do I weep.
Before my monumental attitudes,
Taken from the proudest plastic arts,
My poets pray in austere studious moods,
For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
Have pools of light where beauty fames and dies,
The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.
Translated by F. P. Sturm
Cf: "Venus And The Motley Fools," pge 10.
[ U8
]