the flowers of evil 1861 edition charles baudelaire

You know him reader, that refined monster, He dreams of scaffolds as he smokes his hookah pipe. He is Ennui! - His eye watery as though with tears, He would willingly make of the earth a shambles There is one more ugly, more wicked, more filthy!Īlthough he makes neither great gestures nor great cries, The yelping, howling, growling, crawling monsters, The apes, the scorpions, the vultures, the serpents, It is because our souls have not enough boldness.īut among the jackals, the panthers, the bitch hounds, Have not yet embroidered with their pleasing designs Serried, swarming, like a million maggots,Ī legion of Demons carouses in our brains,Īnd when we breathe, Death, that unseen river,ĭescends into our lungs with muffled wails. That we squeeze very hard like a dried up orange.

We steal as we pass by a clandestine pleasure Tortures the breast of an old prostitute, Like a penniless rake who with kisses and bites

Without horror, through gloom that stinks. The Devil holds the strings which move us!Įvery day we descend a step further toward Hell, Is wholly vaporized by this wise alchemist. We exact a high price for our confessions,īelieving that base tears wash away all our stains. Our sins are obstinate, our repentance is faint To the perfect magician of French letters

For the sections that follow, James McGowan's Oxford World's Classics translation-which is the standard translation, but is not available online-is the reference. Note: The translations below are primarily by William Aggeler.

The flowers of evil 1861 edition charles baudelaire