Une Saison en enfer by Arthur Rimbaud
A Season in Hell
Long ago, if my memory serves me, my life was a banquet where everyone's
heart was generous, and where all wines flowed.
One evening I pulled Beauty down on my knees. I found her embittered
and I cursed her.
I took arms against justice.
I ran away. O witches, poverty, hate- I have confided my treasure
to you!
I was able to expel from my mind all human hope. On every form of
joy, in order to strangle it, I pounced stealthily like a wild animal.
I called to my executioners to let me bite the ends of their guns, as
I died.
I called to all plagues to stifle me with sand and blood. Disaster was my
god. I stretched out in mud. I dried myself in criminal air. I played clever
tricks on insanity.
Spring brought to me an idiot's terrifying laughter.
But recently, on the verge of giving my last croak, I thought of looking
for the key to the ancient banquet where I might possibly recover my
appetite.
Charity is the key. This lofty thought proves I dreamt it!
"You will remain a hyena..." etc., yells the demon who crowned me
with such delightful poppies. "Reach your death with all your lusts, with
your selfishness and all the capital sins."
Ah! I've taken too much on. Dear Satan, I beg you, show a less glaring
eye! While waiting for the few small acts of cowardice still to come, for
you who like in a writer an absence of descriptive or discursive faculties, I
as one of the damned tear out these few miserable pages from my note-
book.
