What is Art
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Translations of French poems and prose quoted in Chapter X.
No. XXIV
I adore thee as much as the vaults of night,
O vase full of grief, taciturnity great,
And I love thee the more because of thy flight.
It seemeth, my night's beautifier, that you
Still heap up those leagues—yes! ironically heap!
That divide from my arms the immensity blue.
I advance to attack, I climb to assault,
Like a choir of young worms at a corpse in the vault;
Thy coldness, oh cruel, implacable beast!
Yet heightens thy beauty, on which my eyes feast!
No. XXXVI
DUELLUM
Two warriors come running, to fight they begin,
With gleaming and blood they bespatter the air;
These games, and this clatter of arms, is the din
Of youth that's a prey to the surgings of love.
The rapiers are broken! and so is our youth,
But the dagger's avenged, dear! and so is the sword,
By the nail that is steeled and the hardened tooth.
Oh, the fury of hearts aged and ulcered by love!
In the ditch, where the ounce and the pard have their lair,
Our heroes have rolled in an angry embrace;
Their skin blooms on brambles that erewhile were bare.
That ravine is a friend-inhabited hell!
Then let us roll in, oh woman inhuman,
To immortalize hatred that nothing can quell!
THE STRANGER
Whom dost thou love best? say, enigmatical man—thy father, thy mother, thy brother, or thy sister?
Thy friends?
Thy country?
Then what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
Suddenly I felt the violent blow of a fist on my back, and I heard a harsh, charming voice, an hysterical voice, as it were hoarse with brandy, the voice of my dear little well-beloved, saying, "Are you going to eat your soup soon, you d—— b—— of a dealer in clouds?"
THE GALLANT MARKSMAN
Several bullets struck far from the intended mark—one even penetrated the ceiling; and as the charming creature laughed madly, mocking her husband's awkwardness, he turned abruptly toward her and said, "Look at that doll there on the right with the haughty mien and her nose in the air; well, dear angel, I imagine to myself that it is you!" And he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The doll was neatly decapitated.
My beloved little silly was giving me my dinner, and I was contemplating, through the open window of the dining-room, those moving architectures which God makes out of vapors, the marvelous constructions of the impalpable. And I said to myself, amid my contemplations, "All these phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful as the eyes of my beautiful beloved, the monstrous little silly with the green eyes."
Gold?
Beauty?
As the carriage was passing through the forest, he ordered it to be stopped near a shooting-gallery, saying that he wished to shoot off a few bullets to kill Time. To kill this monster, is it not the most ordinary and the most legitimate occupation of every one? And he gallantly offered his arm to his dear, delicious, and execrable wife—that mysterious woman to whom he owed so much pleasure, so much pain, and perhaps also a large part of his genius.
"You there use an expression the meaning of which till now remains unknown to me."
"I would gladly love her, goddess and immortal."
"I love the clouds ... the clouds that pass ... there ... the marvelous clouds!"
THE SOUP AND THE CLOUDS
"I ignore in what latitude it is situated."
"I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother."
"I hate it as you hate God."
Then, bowing toward his dear one, his delightful, execrable wife, his inevitable pitiless muse, and kissing her hand respectfully, he added, "Ah! my dear angel, how I thank you for my skill!"
No. I
"The wind in the plain
Suspends its breath."—Favart.
'Tis ecstasy languishing,
Amorous fatigue,
Of woods all the shudderings
Embraced by the breeze,
'Tis the choir of small voices
Toward the gray trees.
Oh, the frail and fresh murmuring!
The twitter and buzz,
The soft cry resembling
That's expired by the grass....
Oh, the roll of the pebbles
'Neath waters that pass!
Oh, this soul that is groaning
In sleepy complaint!
In us is it moaning?
In me and in you?
Low anthem exhaling
While soft falls the dew.
No. VIII
In the unending
Dullness of this land,
Uncertain the snow
Is gleaming like sand.
No kind of brightness
In copper-hued sky,
The moon you might see
Now live and now die.
Gray float the oak trees—
Cloudlike they seem—
Of neighboring forests,
The mists in between.
Wolves hungry and lean,
And famishing crow,
What happens to you
When acid winds blow?
In the unending
Dullness of this land,
Uncertain the snow
Is gleaming like sand.
When he went away,
(Then I heard the door)
When he went away,
On her lips a smile there lay....
Back he came to her,
(Then I heard the lamp)
Back he came to her,
Someone else was there....
It was death I met,
(And I heard her soul)
It was death I met,
For her he's waiting yet....
Someone came to say,
(Child, I am afraid)
Someone came to say
That he would go away....
With my lamp alight,
(Child, I am afraid)
With my lamp alight,
Approached I in affright....
To one door I came,
(Child, I am afraid)
To one door I came,
A shudder shook the flame....
At the second door,
(Child, I am afraid)
At the second door
Forth words of flame did pour....
To the third I came,
(Child, I am afraid)
To the third I came,
Then died the little flame....
Should he one day return
Then what shall we say?
Waiting, tell him, one
And dying for him lay....
If he asks for you,
Say what answer then?
Give him my gold ring
And answer not a thing....
Should he question me
Concerning the last hour?
Say I smiled for fear
That he should shed a tear....
Should he question more
Without knowing me?
Like a sister speak;
Suffering he may be....
Should he question why
Empty is the hall?
Show the gaping door,
The lamp alight no more....